


Lovesong

by Brumeier



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, First Kiss, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Disability, Sentinel Senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Ellison is having a rough go of things. Assigned to desk duty because his senses are out of whack, he investigates a cold case - the murder of a Rainier professor. Blair Sandburg, a young teacher whose dreams have been sidelined by a physical disability, finds a new purpose in his life when he meets Jim. Can they solve the case and overcome the obstacles that stand in the way of what could be a great partnership?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Standard Disclaimer:** I don’t own the characters, I don’t own the songs, but I’m having a darned good time with both!
> 
>  **PLEASE NOTE:** The songs are listed with a particular artist, not necessarily the person who wrote the song. This is just to indicate which version inspired me.

Jim stood outside the ridiculously named Popeye’s Pub, wondering how to play things once he went through the door. It would be easy enough to flash his badge, play the detective card to get the information he was looking for. On the other hand, he wasn’t supposed to be doing any actual detecting right now. Simon had him on desk duty, thanks to the weird sensory crap he was going through. He’d been to countless doctors, taken a myriad of medical and psychological tests, and they couldn’t tell him anything. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Simon put him on extended leave, and he was desperate to solve one of the cold cases that he’d recently been given to review. Make-work is what it was, but he knew he had something with this one.

The pub was within walking distance of Rainier University and he expected it would be full of college-age kids; he could hear some of them in there, each individual conversation clear as day as his hearing spiked up. Jim winced and pulled some Tylenol out of his pocket, dry swallowing them to try and keep the ever-present headache at bay long enough to do his job. He needed to make this work, needed to keep his position at the police department. He took a deep breath and went through the door.

The lighting inside was dim, the air yeasty with the smell of beer and greasy from whatever fried foods the kitchen served. Immediately to the right was a long, gracefully curved bar lined with wooden stools and taps for what seemed to be every Irish beer ever made. To the left were cozy-looking circular booths and small square tables, a well-worn leather sofa and a couple of dart boards. At the rear was a small stage, empty at the moment; the stool and microphone indicated that some sort of live entertainment would be forthcoming. There was a jukebox in one corner, a short hall to the restrooms and kitchen in the other.

Jim got the lay of the land and then made his way down the bar to where the bartender stood. It was only seven o’clock on a Thursday night, and the pub wasn’t especially full. The Irish décor was interspersed with Popeye posters, figurines, and t-shirts pinned to the walls, which made him grin.

“What can I get ya?” the bartender asked when Jim slid onto a barstool.

“You only got Irish beer in this place?” 

“We got everything.”

“Then I’ll take a Corona, no lime.” Jim accepted the bottle and took a long swallow. He felt a bit guilty, but it wasn’t like he was on the clock. “Nice place.”

“We try to keep it that way.” The bartender rested his elbows on the bar. “Your first time at Popeye’s?”

“Yeah. I heard it was good, not a lot of trouble from the college kids.”

“They want the rougher stuff, they go down to the Burton or the OP. We try to keep a mellow mood here.”

Jim could see for himself that it was true. There weren’t only students scattered around inside the pub, but adults as well. They were all engaged in conversation, except one who was tucked away in a corner reading a book and another who was typing something on a laptop.

“You get a lot of teacher types in here?” he asked.

“A fair amount. They like the atmosphere.”

“And Popeye?” Jim chuckled and the bartender grinned.

“Owner of this place is Popeye Greene. People were always giving him Popeye stuff, so he just brought it all in here. It adds a certain something, right?”

“Right.” Jim took another swallow of beer and almost choked on it. Taste was spiking and his mouth was filled with bitterness. He forced himself to swallow and not spit all over the bar. Luckily the bartender was fixing mixed drinks for a couple girls who had just come in and didn’t notice.

“You been bartending here long?” Jim asked when he once again had the other man’s attention. If the guy was annoyed with his chattiness, he didn’t let it show.

“On about six years, I guess. It’s a good gig.”

“Must not have to worry about much crime, this close to Rainier. Lots of security around, right?” He kept his voice casual but watched the bartender closely.

“We get our fair share,” he shrugged. “A little vandalism, but that’s usually just the drunk kids, you know? A couple three years back, there were some robberies. They said that was college kids too, you know?”

“You don’t think it was?”

The bartender shrugged again. “Who knows? The kids are an easy target. Anything goes wrong around here, that’s the first place they look.”

Jim heard some random chords being played on an electric guitar; apparently the entertainment was getting started. He kept his eye on the bartender.

“So they never caught them?”

“Nah. They didn’t steal much, and cops have better things to do. Until that lady was killed, and then they stepped up. But they never got nowhere with it, at least as far as I know.”

Jim feigned surprise. “They killed someone?”

“Lady doctor, from over at the school. She used to come here sometimes. Real nice.” The bartender leaned forward, his manner now conspiratorial. “Cops never fingered anyone for it, and I figure maybe there’s something hinky going on there, right? How hard could it be to find a murderer?”

Jim bristled at that but tried not to let it show. If this guy only knew how difficult it could be to pin down the perpetrator of any crime, he’d be singing a different tune. The cold case files were plentiful, unfortunately.

Before he could say anything, the random chords of the guitar formed themselves into a song, one that Jim recognized immediately. He swung around on the stool and saw there was one guy sitting on stage, a well-used black Strat in his hands. The musician himself looked young, probably from the University. He had long, curly brown hair that hung in his face as he played one of Jim’s favorite Santana songs. His singing voice was as good as his guitar work and Jim was soon entranced.

_I got a Black Magic Woman._  
 _I got a Black Magic Woman._  
 _Yes, I got a Black Magic Woman,_  
 _She's got me so blind I can't see;_  
 _But she's a Black Magic Woman and_  
 _she's trying to make a devil out of me._

“He’s good, isn’t he?” the bartender asked.

“Yeah, really good. Is he a student?” Jim thought he must be, taking in the worn jeans and the green Henley that had seen better days. When he looked closer, he could see a dog on stage as well, lying discreetly behind the stool so all he could see was the head. It looked like a Golden Retriever, but in the dim lighting he couldn’t be sure.

_You got your spell on me, baby._  
 _You got your spell on me, baby._  
 _Yes, you got your spell on me, baby,_  
 _Turnin' my heart into stone;_  
 _I need you so bad,_  
 _Magic Woman I can't leave you alone._

“Professor, actually. Blair Sandburg. He comes in a couple nights a week and plays. I get the feeling he doesn’t get out much, not since his accident.”

The musician in question segued seamlessly into “Witchy Woman” by the Eagles. Jim noticed that the other patrons were as riveted as he was. Blair had a nice tenor and his range was impressive, dropping down into a warm baritone or rising up to a clear alto.

_Raven hair and ruby lips_  
 _Sparks fly from her finger tips_  
 _Echoed voices in the night_  
 _She's a restless spirit on an endless flight_

_Wooo hooo witchy woman,_  
 _See how high she flies_  
 _Woo hoo witchy woman,_  
 _She got the moon in her eyes_

“Accident?” Jim asked without turning around.

_Well I know you want a lover,_  
 _Let me tell you brother, she's been sleeping_  
 _In the devil's bed_  
 _And there's some rumors going round_  
 _Someone's underground_  
 _She can rock you in the nighttime_  
 _'til your skin turns red_

“There was a fight or something on campus, it got pretty ugly. Blair tried to intervene, got thrown off a balcony for his trouble. Lost his sight after that, I guess he hit his head really hard.”

Jim felt a wave of sympathy for the kid. His senses were completely out of control, but at least he still had all of them. How would he cope if he lost his sight, or his hearing? And then he realized that his ever-present headache was gone. _What the hell_? Not that he was complaining, but it was so strange not to have that pressure in his head; somewhere in the last few weeks that had become the norm. He took a tentative sip of his beer and found that now it tasted just fine.

Blair finished with the Eagles and moved on to another song, and Jim couldn’t help but grin. The kid had a theme set going, it seemed, and he settled in with his beer to watch him play.

_I put a spell on you, because you're mine_  
 _You'd better stop the things that you do_  
 _I ain't lyin', no I ain't lyin', yeah!_  
 _I just can't stand it, baby, for you're always runnin' around_  
 _I can't stand it the way you're always puttin' me down_  
 _I put a spell on you, because you're mine_

“Do you want to meet him?” the bartender asked. “He’ll be taking a break once he’s done with this song.”

Well, yes, he did, but he was suddenly reminded that he was here to do a job, and not meet and greet with random strangers. Besides, what would he say?

“No, that’s okay.” Jim forced himself to turn back around to the bar.

_I said I love you, I love you, I love you, oh baby how_  
 _I don't care if you don't want me_  
 _I said I'm yours, I'm yours right now_  
 _I put a spell on you, because you're mine_

He knew the time for asking questions had passed. He shouldn’t have let himself get distracted. _Damn_. If he got back to the subject of the dead professor, the bartender would certainly be suspicious. Nothing left to do but go home, and he sighed at the thought of paying another cab. Since he couldn’t trust his senses he’d voluntarily stopped driving so that he didn’t hurt anyone, or himself, in case he blacked out behind the wheel.

The electric guitar fell silent, and Jim found his gaze drawn back to the stage. Blair stood to a smattering of applause and made a bow. The dog came out to stand by his side and now Jim could see the harness; it was a guide dog. The professor grabbed hold of it and they both walked off the stage and straight to an empty booth that had a Reserved sign on it.

The bartender came out from behind the bar, a bottle of cold water in one hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you. Blair likes to hear from fans.”

Oh, what the hell. Jim finished off his beer and set the bottle back on the bar, then followed the bartender over to the booth. As they got about two feet away, Jim heard a low tone, but couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from.

“Hey, Blair,” the bartender said.

“Mike. How’s it hangin’?”

“A little to the left.” 

Both men grinned and Jim could see this was a regular joke between them. Mike set the water on the table.

“Water, twelve o’clock.”

“Thanks, man. Who’s that with you?”

Jim wasn’t surprised that Blair knew he was there. He understood that the loss of one sense generally enhanced those that were left. The bartender looked at him with a raised eyebrow and he realized the other man didn’t know his name.

“Jim Ellison,” he said.

“He’s a cop,” Mike the bartender said, surprising him. “Asking about the Brightman murder. Thought maybe you could help him out.”

Blair tilted his head in Jim’s direction, giving him a glimpse of deep blue eyes behind half-closed lids. “A cop? You packin’ heat?”

“Standard issue, shoulder holster,” Mike reported.

“That how you made me?” Jim asked curiously. Blair laughed.

“Are you kidding? Mike can smell a cop a mile away. It’s a gift.”

“I also do parties,” Mike joked. “Get you another beer, cop?”

“Sure,” Jim said. He should have been annoyed that his ruse hadn’t worked, but it was all done with an air of good humor and he couldn’t help but grin himself.

“Have a seat, Officer Jim.” 

Jim did so, sliding into the booth across from Blair. He was mindful of the dog, who was lying under the table at the other man’s feet. “That’s Detective Jim, thank you very much.”

Blair uncapped the water bottle and took a long drink. “Dr. Brightman died almost three years ago, Detective. Why the renewed interest?”

Before Jim could respond, Mike was back with his beer and he heard that odd tone again.

“What’s that noise?” he muttered to himself.

“Motion detector.” Blair pulled his cell phone off his belt and laid it on the table. “Yeah, there’s an app for that. Gives me a heads-up when someone gets close.”

Mike handed Jim the beer and dropped a wink before heading back to the bar. Jim took a careful sip, then a larger swallow when he realized that taste was still momentarily online.

“Did you know Dr. Brightman?” he asked, getting back to the topic at hand.

“Not personally. I’m an anthropologist, she was Chair of the English Department, and our paths didn’t cross much.” Blair spun his phone in lazy circles with one finger. “I know she was well respected, both on campus and in the world at large. One of those frequent publishers whose work is actually read.”

“Anyone who might have had it out for her?”

“If there was, I wouldn’t have known. I went to her funeral; there was a massive turnout. People liked her.” He ran a hand over his face. “You don’t think she surprised the thieves, like they said.”

Jim shrugged, then realized Blair couldn’t see it. “I’m not sure. That was the party line, but something about it strikes me wrong. I’m just trying to see if I can find something someone else missed.”

“You’d be better off talking to the people she worked with. Have you contacted anyone at Rainier?” 

“Oh. Uh, no. No, I haven’t.” Jim fidgeted with the beer bottle, embarrassed. “I’m not supposed to be doing any…uh…leg work right now.”

Blair nodded. “You’re looking into this unofficially. That’s cool, man.”

“Yeah, unofficially. If I wanted to talk to some of Dr. Brightman’s colleagues in that respect, what would you recommend?”

“Do I get a deputy badge?” Blair asked with a grin. “I’ve never helped the cops out before.”

“Yeah, sure Chief. We’ll get you a shiny gold star.”

“Well, in that case, there’s a faculty reception on Tuesday. The Dean is going to be there, so most departments will show to suck up. I could bring you along as my guest.”

Jim thought that over, and decided he liked it. It was definitely workable and just informal enough to suit his needs. “That would be great, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

Blair chuckled. “I don’t mind. My department head will be thrilled. They like to trot me out. Affirmative action and all that.”

Jim didn’t know what to say to that, so he just drank his beer. The dog shifted under the table and Blair reached down to pat it on the head. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got another set coming up, Detective. Will you be staying?”

Jim checked the time. “I really should be heading back…but I guess I could hang around for one more song. You’re really good.”

“Thanks. Oh, hey, here’s my cell number.” Blair rattled off the numbers and Jim added them to his own phone. “Call me on Monday and we’ll sort out the details.”

“Sounds good.”

“Let’s go, Julie.” Blair and the guide dog made their way back up to the stage. As soon as he got settled on the stool, the dog – Julie – lay down behind him, head on her paws. He pulled his guitar from the open case and settled himself in to play.

“This next song is for Detective Jim, seeker of justice,” he said into the microphone. Jim blushed, and then couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his face when Blair started to sing.

_I shot the sheriff,_  
 _But I did not shoot the deputy._  
 _I shot the sheriff,_  
 _But I didn't shoot the deputy._

_All around my home town_  
 _They're trying to track me down._  
 _They say they want to bring me in guilty_  
 _For the killing of the deputy;_  
 _For the life of a deputy._

_I said.._  
 _I shot the sheriff,_  
 _But I swear it was in self-defense._  
 _I shot the sheriff_  
 _And they say it was a capital offence._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** This is not set in the time period of the series, just in case you were wondering. I wanted Blair to have the advantage of some modern tech to help him get through life easier.
> 
> I’d like to dedicate this fic to Dr. Louis Leotta, one-time chair of the History Department at St. Bonaventure University and my former boss when I was a student there. He also had a guide dog named Julie, who was amazing. Dr. Leotta was pretty cool, too. He taught me the fundamentals of Braille, used a scanning program named Oscar to read student papers, and would go target shooting using musical greeting cards as targets. He was the coolest!
> 
>  
> 
> **Song List:**
> 
>  
> 
> Lovesong, The Cure (title)  
> Black Magic Woman, Santana  
> Witchy Woman, The Eagles  
> I Put A Spell On You, The Animals  
> I Shot the Sheriff, Eric Clapton


	2. Chapter 2

Jim sat in the back of a cab, on his way to Rainier University. He’d offered to pick up Blair, but the kid had politely declined; most likely he didn’t want a stranger in his house, and Jim couldn’t help but approve of that mindset. He’d run a background check, of course, but Blair was squeaky clean. Not so much as a traffic violation before his accident. When he’d tracked down the police report, it followed what the bartender had told him. There had been some kind of student mixer and two jocks had gotten into a fist fight up on a second floor interior balcony. Blair had tried to intervene, but ended up being pushed over the railing and landed on his head in just the wrong way. He hadn’t filed any charges against the students who had assaulted him, even though he’d been lucky not to break his neck.

Jim’s headache had come back about an hour after he’d left the bar last week, which had not been unexpected; it made him wonder at the cause, though. He had plenty of Tylenol with him, which he knew he’d need. Social events like these were always an experience in tedium and a pounding head didn’t make it any easier. Hopefully he’d learn something about Dr. Brightman that would make all this trouble worthwhile.

The cab dropped Jim off in front of Alumni Hall, and he was relieved to see that Blair was already waiting for him by the door; he just wanted to get this over with. The professor was wearing black jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt with a gray tie. He’d told Jim to go for dressy casual, so he’d decided on khaki pants with a long-sleeved red polo; he was glad he hadn’t over-dressed.

“Am I late?” Jim asked, as a way to let Blair know he was there.

“No such thing as late at a faculty reception,” the younger man said with a grin. “Should be plenty of finger food left.”

Jim was listening for the motion detector and nodded when he heard it go off. Blair turned and opened the door, holding it open till Jim grabbed it.

“Forward,” he directed Julie, who dutifully moved inside and across a wide foyer. There were signs on tasteful wooden stands directing the way, but Blair seemed to know exactly where he was going.

“Just stick with me and follow my lead,” he said. “Academics can be a very close-mouthed bunch around strangers. You mention you’re a cop and no-one will talk to you.”

“Gotcha,” Jim said amicably. He’d let Blair take point on this, since he knew the people involved. Plus, the younger man seemed to be getting a kick out of playing detective.

When they reached the room that housed the reception, Jim reached out without thinking and grabbed hold of Blair’s elbow to steer him inside. The other man jerked away, which made the dog growl. Jim flushed, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Rule of thumb,” Blair said with a frown. “Don’t touch me unless I ask.”

“Noted.”

And just like that he shook it off. “Left,” he said to Julie.

Jim followed them into the reception. It was a generic conference room, with tables scattered around and a buffet set along one wall. Tasteful art hung on the walls, and some instrumental music was being piped in. The faculty members ranged in age from those as young as Blair to an elderly woman who leaned heavily on a cane.

“Always go for the food first,” Blair advised. “You’ll seem less threatening with a plate of mini quiche and stuffed mushrooms.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jim replied dryly. He watched as Blair approached one of the waiters, who was probably a student, and asked what was available. The waiter, a boy with terrible acne, described the offerings and then filled a small plate for the other man. Jim grabbed some crab cakes and mini eggrolls, then followed Blair into the fray.

“Blair Sandburg! Glad you could make it!” A large man with a heavy beard came forward, a wide grin on his face. “Who’s your friend?”

“Dr. Emil Ellingsworth, this is my cousin Jim. Emil here is the black sheep of the Physics department.”

Jim fought to keep a straight face. Cousin? That was the line he was going to use? He shook Dr. Ellingsworth’s hand.

“Jim was a student here about fifteen years ago. He was hoping to catch up with Dr. Brightman, but I had to tell him the unfortunate news.” Blair let go of Julie’s harness so he could pop a mini quiche into his mouth; the dog sat but never moved from his side.

“Damn shame that,” Dr. Ellingsworth said morosely. “She was a fine woman, for a bookworm.”

“Did you know her well?” Jim asked. The big man shook his head.

“No. Different departments, you know. She was always knee-deep in some project. Almost never came to these receptions.”

“She was lucky. My department head insists on attendance.” A short, plump woman joined them, glasses around her neck on a chain and another set perched on top of her head.

“Professor Whaley, this is my cousin Jim.”

More hand-shaking. “Sally was a wonderful woman. Always made time for her students, as I’m sure you remember.”

Jim nodded and hoped he looked sincere. 

“The English department used to be such a nice, relaxed place. After Sanchez got promoted it went downhill fast.”

“Edward Sanchez, he took over as Department Chair after Dr. Brightman died,” Blair explained. “He doesn’t have a lot of friends on the faculty.”

“I hear the man’s a real piece of work,” Dr. Ellingsworth put in. “The female students really hate him.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

Professor Whaley gave her fellow teacher a slap on the arm. “Don’t go telling tales, Emil. It’s not polite.”

“Is Dr. Sanchez here tonight?” Blair asked

“Fortunately, no,” Professor Whaley said with a smile. “No doubt working on his next best-seller.”

“Blair, my boy!” An older man joined them, his hair completely gray and his moustache and beard neatly trimmed. “So glad you came!”

“Jim, this is my department head, Dr. Eli Stoddard. Eli, this is my cousin Jim.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Dr. Stoddard shook Jim’s hand, and nodded his head to the other two. “Emil. Jenn.”

“Eli,” Emil said, his face clearly showing his distaste for the other man. “If you’ll excuse me. Nice meeting you, Jim.”

Jim nodded and watched as the other man stalked across the room. Even Professor Whaley seemed ill at ease, and she quickly took her leave as well. Dr. Stoddard clapped Blair on the back, sending him stumbling forward a step, and glared at Julie when she growled.

“Your cousin is quite the scholar,” he said cheerfully. “You should be proud of what he’s accomplished, given his handicap.”

Jim immediately bristled, though Blair’s face remained neutral. Probably the younger man heard this kind of thing a lot, but that didn’t make it any less rude. He was with Emil; he didn’t like Dr. Stoddard at all.

“The family has always been proud of him,” he replied. “Why, at the last family dinner Grandma Molly made a lovely speech about…”

“Let’s not bore Dr. Stoddard,” Blair cut in, a warning in his voice that didn’t match the way his lips were twitching as he fought a smile.

“Oh, it’s not boring at all, my boy,” Dr. Stoddard said. “I’d love to meet your grandmother some time.”

“So would I,” Blair said under his breath. Jim heard him anyway, noting with surprise that once again his headache was gone and his senses, while still abnormally high, weren’t causing him any difficulty.

“Well, I must mingle. I’ll find you before I leave, Blair.”

Blair just nodded and smiled, and then shook his head when he heard the older man walking away. “Grandma Molly? Really?”

Jim shrugged. “You’re the one who went with the cousin thing.”

“Come on, follow me. I know just who you need to talk to.” Blair took up the harness again and urged Julie forward. They moved through the room, everyone giving the professor and his dog a wide berth, until they reached a harried-looking young woman wearing a gray pin-striped dress.

“Gertie, is that you?” Blair asked congenially. 

“Professor Sandburg. Hi.”

“Jim, this is Gertie. She’s Dr. Sanchez’s right-hand, the English Department office manager and all around wunderkind in the ways of office politics.”

Gertie flushed and shook Jim’s hand. “I’m just a glorified secretary, really.”

“Edward makes her come so she can collect all the gossip for him,” Blair said. His lip turned up in almost a sneer. No need to guess how _he_ felt about Dr. Sanchez.

“He likes to keep in the loop,” Gertie said apologetically.

“Believe me, I know what it’s like to be at the whim of your boss,” Jim commiserated. “Have you worked for him long?”

The young woman sighed. “Almost three years now, I guess. I’d been working for Dr. Brightman before that. So awful, the way she died.”

“She must’ve been better to work for,” Blair commented.

“Yes and no. She was a heck of a lot nicer, that’s for sure. But she could be pretty scatterbrained sometimes.”

“Scatterbrained?” Jim asked. That was something new.

“Sure. You know, she’d misplace papers all the time. I was constantly rifling her office looking for notes and exams and stuff.”

Blair nodded. “Word on the street is Dr. Sanchez is pretty anal about his own files.”

Gertie rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. He keeps the darn things under lock and key, and then yells at me when I can’t access them for him.”

“You should move to the Anthro department,” Blair said. “We’d treat you way nicer than that.”

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it. Anywhere would be better, even the Math department.” Gertie grinned. “I’m heading back to the buffet. Would you like me to take your plates?”

Jim and Blair both handed over their empty plates with thanks, and for a moment they were alone.

“Did that help?” Blair asked. “I know it’s not a case breaker or anything.”

“No, that was good.” Jim tapped a finger on his chin. “I’d like to talk to this Dr. Sanchez. Seems like he had a lot to gain by Dr. Brightman’s death.”

“Becoming department chair? It’s not much of a motive.”

“Maybe not, but it’s a place to start.”

“Well, good luck getting in to see him. He might just be the most inaccessible man on campus. At least that’s what I hear from our mutual students.” Blair reached down to rub Julie’s head. “You might have to flash your badge for that interview.”

Jim checked the time. “Unless there’s someone else you think I should talk to, I’m gonna head out.”

“No-one here knows Sanchez better than Gertie, and they’ll all say the same things about Dr. Brightman. Do you need me to call you a cab?” Blair unclipped his cell phone from his belt. “I can have one here in like five minutes.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Jim watched as the younger man used voice commands to get to an app that contacted the closest cab company and requested a car. “Can I give you a lift home?”

“Me? No thanks. I’ll hang here a little longer. It’s not much of a walk to get to my place.” Blair headed for the door. “I’ll wait outside with you, though.”

They walked out of Alumni Hall together, and Jim was glad the weather was so nice and mild; for Cascade that was unusual. He thought about mentioning it, but decided against it. Surely he could think of something better to talk about while they waited.

“Thanks for your help,” he said finally.

Blair grinned and it lit up his whole face. “Any time, Detective Jim. This beats grading exams.”

“You sure you don’t want a ride? I mean, it can be dangerous out here at night.” Jim didn’t know why he was pressing the issue, except that he was enjoying the other man’s company. He supposed he could always invite him for coffee or something, but that sounded too much like a line and he wasn’t attracted to him or anything like that. Just…intrigued.

“Really, I’m good.” Blair patted Julie on the head. “Most criminals won’t approach you if you have a dog, or so I’ve been told. Besides, who picks on the handicapped guy? Even among crooks that’s low.”

It was the second time that night he’d been called handicapped and Jim didn’t like it. He hadn’t known Blair all that long, but for the most part he didn’t even think about him being disabled. In fact, he seemed pretty darn _abled_. For a blind guy that looked like a neo-hippy punk, the kid was extremely likeable.

“If you’re interested, I’m going to be playing down at Popeye’s again tomorrow. Same time.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’ll stop by.” Jim thought that sounded nice and casual, though he was glad to have an excuse to see Blair again. “Kitchen make anything good?”

“It’s outstanding, if you don’t mind clogged arteries and advanced heart disease,” Blair replied wryly. “I’m guessing it would be right up your alley. Cop food.”

“Very funny, Chief.” Jim reached out to tag him on the arm, then remembered what he’d said about no touching and pulled back just in time. The cab arrived and parked at the curb. 

“Will you let me know if you find anything out about Dr. Brightman?” Blair asked.

“Sure. I’ll…uh…”

“See you around,” Blair said with a laugh.

Jim got into the cab and gave the driver his address, feeling awkward and embarrassed. Again. Maybe it would be better if stayed away from Blair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** And so Blair and Jim work their first case together. They make a pretty good team in any universe, right? LOL! Will Jim stay away from his new friend? Yeah, not likely. More singing coming up in the next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Wednesday night at Popeye’s was hopping, and Jim wished he’d gotten there earlier. Every table and booth was full and he stood uncertainly by the bar, all the noise pounding at his already aching head. He’d just about decided to go home when Mike the bartender saw him and came around the end of the bar.

“Got a seat for you, cop. Right this way.”

“Big crowd for a Wednesday,” Jim said as they moved through the crowd. They were heading for the reserved booth, he saw now, which was the only one left empty.

“Special musical attraction tonight. Corona, no lime, right?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jim slid into the booth. He had a better view of the stage now and saw that instead of just one stool there were four. Had he gotten the night wrong? He was sure Blair had told him he’d be playing tonight.

Mike dropped off his beer, shot him a quick grin, and then headed up to the stage. He held up his hands and waited for the room to quiet down once he had everyone’s attention. The four microphones on stage easily picked up every word he said and had Jim reaching for his Tylenol.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Popeye’s is proud to present, for one night only, The Grad4!”

Thunderous applause followed this pronouncement and Jim was seconds away from clapping his hands to his ears when everything suddenly evened out to more normal levels. Four men walked on stage, and he was pleased to see that Blair was one of them. He took the stool closest to the exit, Julie lying down behind him. One of the other men pulled out an acoustic guitar, and Blair settled his Strat into place.

There was a minute or two of tuning, and then the foursome launched right into the first song, an Eagles ballad, and their four part harmony was unbelievable. Jim knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t help it.

_There are stars in the southern sky_  
 _Southward as you go_  
 _There is moonlight and moss in the trees_  
 _Down the seven bridges road._

The first verse had been a cappella and then the guitars kicked in. Jim was surprised at how well the electric and acoustic guitars meshed, and how easily he could pick out Blair’s voice. These guys were obviously local favorites, judging by the enthusiastic response of the crowd. He could understand why. 

_Sometimes there's a part of me_  
 _Has to turn from here and go_  
 _Running like a child from these warm stars_  
 _Down the seven bridges road._

_There are stars in the southern sky_  
 _And if ever you decide you should go_  
 _There is a taste of time sweetened honey_  
 _Down the seven bridges road._

There was more applause when they finished, and Blair was beaming. He leaned close to the guy sitting next to him and whispered something in his ear. The guy shot a quick look at Jim and whispered back. Then Blair was talking into his microphone.

“Wow, thanks! You guys are such a great audience! For those of you who may be new, we’re The Grad4. I’m Burg, and this is Pils, Mean Gene and The Great Gazoo on acoustic guitar.”

There was more hooting and hollering at that and Blair waited patiently for the noise to die down. “We were in fact four grad students when we started to sing together, though only The Great Gazoo is still plugging away. He’s also single, ladies.”

“Hey!” the man in question protested with a grin.

“We’re going to give you a little Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young,” Pils said. “This one is for Burg, the only one of us who’s actually seen the Southern Cross.”

Jim just shook his head at the nicknames. The foursome began to sing again, Blair taking the lead vocals.

_Got out of town on a boat goin' to Southern Islands._  
 _Sailing a reach a'fore a following sea._  
 _She was making for the trades on the outside,_  
 _And the downhill run to Papeete Bay_

Jim finished off his beer, not even noticing that his headache was gone and his senses were completely normal. He thought it was interesting that Blair kept his eyes closed while he sang. And his whole body moved, though it was a very subtle swaying.

_When you see the Southern Cross for the first time,_  
 _You understand now why you came this way._  
 _'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from is so small,_  
 _But it's as big as the promise, the promise of a comin' day._

He wondered where Blair had been when he saw the Southern Cross. On some kind of Anthropology expedition, maybe? Did anthropologists go on expeditions? Maybe he was thinking of archeologists. He thought, a bit sadly, that the kid probably didn’t get out much these days. The changes in his life brought on by his blindness were probably innumerable.

Jim turned his focus to Blair’s bandmates. The one called Pils was tall and gangly, his dark hair short and spiky. He wore baggy cargo pants and a white t-shirt emblazoned with the band’s name. Mean Gene was a pudgy red-head with a pencil-thin moustache, decked out in camouflage shorts and a plain olive drab tee. The Great Gazoo was dark-skinned, with a puffy afro and a killer smile; if he was single now, Jim didn’t imagine that would last long. 

But Blair stood out from the others, and not just because of his voice. There was just something about him that made him seem a bit brighter, something that set him apart. Even in his big blue flannel shirt and faded blue jeans he just seemed to…glow.

_Think about how many times I have fallen._  
 _Spirits are using me; larger voices callin'._  
 _What heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten._  
 _I have been around the world, lookin' for that woman-girl_  
 _Who knows love can endure._  
 _And you know it will._  
 _And you know it will._

More applause as the song finished, and Jim joined in heartily. Someone went up to the stage and passed out bottles of water to the singers. The one called Mean Gene seemed especially sweaty, and Jim wondered if that was due to nerves. Blair, on the other hand, was calm and cool, looking right at home up there with the guitar resting on his thigh. He was a natural entertainer.

“Two more songs, and then we’ll be calling it a night,” Pils announced. “After the show we would be delighted to sell you our Greatest Hits CD.”

“Well, they’re not _our_ greatest hits,” Blair said with a laugh. “But they’re still pretty good.”

“This next one,” Pils continued. “Is by Los Lonely Boys. We don’t usually sing full a cappella…”

“The guitars hide a multitude of sins,” The Great Gazoo put in.

“…so be nice if we suck, okay?”

_We were in love before_  
 _But now it's so much more_  
 _Cause when I kiss your lips_  
 _I can't explain_  
 _What I feel in my heart for you_

_I don't know what I'd do_  
 _Baby, if I lost you_  
 _Cause I've been without you_  
 _And I know how it feels_  
 _And I can't be alone anymore_

It was just pointless banter, because these four guys were just as good without instrumental back-up as they were with it. Jim let himself drift on the sound of their voices blending together.

When the applause started Jim jerked in surprise. He must have dozed off or something, because he missed almost the entire song. His empty bottle was gone too, replaced by a fresh one with water beading down the side. He’d missed Mike? He shook his head, trying to clear it.

“Our final song of the night, boys and girls, is a little bit country.” Pils tipped an imaginary hat.

“And a whole lot awesome,” Blair added. “If you’re not familiar with the Zac Brown Band, man, you gotta check them out. They rock.”

The Great Gazoo produced a finger slide, which added to the country sound. Once again Blair took lead vocals on the solo parts, but these guys really shone when they got to the harmonies.

_We never spoke a word_  
 _But every thought she had I heard from across the room_  
 _If we were standing face to face_  
 _I couldn't find the words to say give me one more move_  
 _I don't even know her name_  
 _I guess foolish pride's to blame_

_Now I'm falling in love as she's walking away_  
 _and my heart won't tell my mind to tell my mouth what it should say_  
 _May have lost this battle, live to fight another day_  
 _Now I'm falling in love as she's walking away_

Jim couldn’t help but study Blair’s face as he sang. He seemed to put everything he had into each song as if he’d written it personally. Had he always been so intense? Jim found he wanted to get to know the kid better, find out the answers to the questions he had about him.

_Don't you let regret take place_  
 _of the dreams you have to chase._  
 _Ask her to dance. Go on, son._  
 _You might fall down on your face_  
 _roll the dice and have some faith._

_Don't be falling in love as she's walking away_  
 _when your heart won't tell your mind to tell my mouth what it should say_  
 _May have lost this battle, live to fight another day_  
 _Don't be falling in love as she's walking away_

The Grad4 finished up to much hooting and hollering from the crowd, and then someone put on the jukebox. All the guys but Mean Gene left the stage; he stayed behind with a box of CDs. The others hit the bar for stronger refreshments, but Blair made right for what seemed to be his usual booth with Julie at his side.

“Glad you could make it, Detective,” he said when he’d taken his seat. He uncapped his bottle of water and emptied the remainder of it in one swallow. 

“You guys are good,” Jim said. “That was a great show.”

“Hey, thanks.” Blair looked pleased. “In that case, I have something for you.”

He reached into the pocket of his oversized flannel shirt and pulled out a CD. It had a picture of Grad4 on the cover, all of them wearing dark shades and lounging around on an eclectic array of chairs. Jim accepted it gratefully.

“How much do I owe you?”

“First one’s on me,” Blair grinned. 

“It was worth the cab fare.”

He cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. “Why is it that a detective like you doesn’t drive? I’d think that would be inconvenient on the job.”

Jim took a sudden interest in his half-empty beer bottle. “Oh. Uh. I’m having some…ah…medical issues right now. I’m on desk duty at work.”

“Oh, I get it. That’s why your investigation is unofficial, right?” Blair nodded without waiting for Jim to answer his question. “That makes sense. Were you injured on the job? Like shot or something?”

“No, nothing like that. Just some…stuff going on with me right now.” Jim didn’t feel comfortable talking about it; it was embarrassing that his own body was working against him. Although, he finally realized, everything seemed to be fine right now. He looked at Blair curiously. Why was it that whenever they were together he felt normal?

“Don’t sweat it, man. I’m sure you’ll be back pounding the pavement in no time.”

Jim grinned, amused. “I don’t pound the pavement, Chief. I’m not a beat cop.”

“Hey, a cop’s a cop, right? Packin’ heat, poundin’ the pavement, chewin’ on big cigars.”

“You watch too much TV, Junior,” he replied, and then winced when he realized what he said.

“If you can’t trust the capitalist media, who _can_ you trust?” Blair laughed. “Come on, I bet you at least work with someone who smokes cigars.”

Well, yeah, he did in fact. Captain Banks always had cigars on him, an unlit one usually clamped between his teeth like some kind of security blanket. Jim had never minded them until his senses went wonky, and now the smell was frequently overpowering.

Some girls stopped by to tell Blair how much they’d enjoyed the show and to get him to sign their CDs. He did so carefully, using his fingers to frame out an area for his cramped signature. Jim figured that would be a good time to grab a refill from the bar, since Mike was too busy at the moment to make deliveries.

“I’m gonna grab another beer, you want anything?”

“I’ll take another water, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” Jim made his way through the chattering crowd and found an empty spot at the bar. 

“Hey, cop. What can I get you?” Mike asked when he finally made his way down. 

“Another beer for me, and water for Blair.”

“Coming right up.”

Someone squeezed in next to him and it took him a moment to realize that it was Pils. The other man gave him a quick once-over.

“So you’re Detective Jim?”

“That’s me,” Jim agreed amicably.

“Burg says you’re a good guy. Looking into the whole Dr. Brightman thing, right?”

“Yeah. Did you know her?” Jim accepted the drinks from Mike and tossed some money down on the bar.

“Not real well. I was in VisCom – that’s Visual Communications – but I’d talked to her a couple times. Real nice lady. It was a shame what happened.”

“I’ve heard that from everyone. Do you know Dr. Sanchez, her replacement?”

Pils snorted. “That man is a grade-A douche nozzle. I took a class from him when I was an undergrad and it was like he _wanted_ everyone to fail, you know? Is he a suspect or something?”

Jim shrugged. “I’m just exploring all avenues.”

“Yeah, well, you find that guy guilty of anything, half the campus will stand up and cheer.”

“And the other half?”

“Idiots and sycophants. They think he’s great because of some book he wrote. Doesn’t make him any less of a dick as far as I’m concerned.”

“I really have to meet this guy,” Jim said. “Sounds like a prince.”

“Good luck to you,” Pils replied. “You’ll need it.”

“Oh, here.” Jim pulled out his wallet and gave the other man a twenty. “Donation for the band.”

“Hey, you’re alright. For a cop.” Pils saluted him with his own bottle of beer and they both went their separate ways.

When Jim got back to the booth, Blair had his eyes closed and his head back. “Hey, you awake Burg?”

“Not for much longer, man.”

Jim set the water on the table and then wasn’t sure how to let Blair know where it was. He remembered what Mike had said that first night and moved it a little to the left.

“Water’s…uh…twelve o’clock? Ish?”

“Ish?” Blair chuckled. He reached out across the table and felt around carefully until he found it. “Hmm. More like one. Thanks.”

“Hi, Blair.” An older woman this time, and she came bearing food. She put two plates on the table, laden with burgers and fries. Jim’s mouth was suddenly watering; he’d forgotten all about eating.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Blair said. “I took the liberty of ordering us some dinner. Mike said you hadn’t eaten yet, and the burgers here are really good despite being cholesterol bombs.”

“Don’t make me wash your mouth out,” the woman threatened. 

“Sorry Edie. Oh, hey, this is Detective Jim. Jim, this is Edie. She does the cooking.”

“Smells great,” Jim said honestly. Edie smiled at him.

“Well, aren’t you a sweet one. You could teach this one some manners.” She looked down at Blair with nothing but affection in her eyes. “Your burger is at six, fries at two, coleslaw at ten.”

“You know I hate coleslaw,” Blair frowned.

“Until the day you finally try mine,” Edie replied. “And then you’ll be begging for it.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” he said pleasantly.

“Enjoy your dinner, boys.” 

Jim liberally salted his burger and then took a big bite out of it, making a little sound of pleasure in the back of his throat. It was exceptional. Char-grilled on the outside, pink and moist on the inside. He wished he’d found this place sooner.

“I knew you’d like it,” Blair said smugly. “You really should cut back on the salt though.”

Jim didn’t bother responding to that; he was too busy sinking into the pleasure of well-cooked food. The fries were a little crispier than he usually liked, but he wasn’t going to complain. Not when the burger was so good.

“Is Edie married?” he asked.

“Get in line, man. Everyone who eats here wants to take her home.”

“I could take them.”

Blair just shook his head and attended to his own meal. The silence between them was comfortable and Jim tried to remember the last time he’d had such a pleasant dinner with someone. His ex-wife hadn’t been big on silences; Carolyn had always tried to fill them, even when there was nothing to say.

“So what’s next with Dr. Brightman’s case?” Blair asked when he’d gotten halfway through his burger.

“I need to call Dr. Sanchez, see if I can get in to talk with him. He gained the most from her death, and seems universally disliked. Might be he knows something.” Jim wiped his mouth on his napkin. 

“Just because he’s an ass doesn’t make him a murderer,” Blair pointed out.

“I know that, Chief. But he probably knew her well and I’d be interviewing him regardless.”

“Well, if you’re angling for an interview use flattery. If you stroke his ego he’ll be more inclined to talk to you.” Blair tapped a French fry against the side of his plate. “Maybe tell him he could be an important asset to the investigation and you value his keen insight.”

“Isn’t that laying it on a bit thick?” Jim asked, though he liked how the kid’s mind worked. 

“For normal people, yeah. For Sanchez? Just another day. Trust me.”

And to his surprise, Jim found he did. Blair had good insights, and he’d been a pretty good ally so far. “Okay, Deputy Sandburg. I’ll take that under advisement.”

Blair leaned forward so he could fish something out of the back pocket of his jeans. It was a little leather wallet and he pulled a business card out of it. 

“Stop by and see me when you’re on campus. My office hours are listed there.”

Jim took the card from him. _Blair Sandburg – Professor of Anthropology – Rainier University – Hargrove Hall, Room 112_. Below that were his office hours, and along the bottom some raised perforations in the cardstock.

“What does this say? The Braille.” 

“It’s just my name and number,” Blair said.

Jim ran his finger over it, feeling each individual bump even though they were closely spaced. Braille was a whole other language, one meant for touching alone. Something about that really struck him and he wondered how difficult it was to learn.

“Hey, man, I’ve gotta go.” Blair pulled out his phone and checked the time; an automated voice told him it was after nine o’clock. “You’ll come see me, after you interview Dr. Sanchez?”

“Depends on when I can get in to see him, but I’ll try,” Jim replied. “You need a lift home?”

“I’m good. Thanks. And don’t worry about the burger, it’s all taken care of.”

“Blair…” Jim protested, but the other man cut him off.

“Just a perk of being a band groupie,” he grinned. He slid out of the booth and took a firm grip on Julie’s harness. “Good night, Detective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** Blair can draw a crowd, can’t he? He certainly entranced Jim. I love the songs his band sings in this chapter. All those harmonies…so sweet. And really, I like the idea of Blair having a creative outlet like that, since he’s limited in some of the other things he can do.
> 
>  
> 
> **Song List:**
> 
>  
> 
> Seven Bridges Road, The Eagles  
> Southern Cross, Crosby Stills Nash & Young  
> More Than Love, Los Lonely Boys  
> As She’s Walking Away, Zac Brown Band


	4. Chapter 4

Jim didn’t usually have much reason to go out to Rainier University. Whatever crime happened there was generally petty and handled by the campus cops. The grounds were nice and well-maintained, and with the warm weather continuing there were students out in droves. Jim was worried about his senses, but everything was holding more or less steady, and his headache was just a faint throbbing in the back of his skull.

Dr. Sanchez had been more than willing to meet with him, especially after he’d put on an Oscar-worthy performance during their brief phone conversation. Blair had been right on the money about the man’s ego. Jim paused, looking around for Plassman Hall. He wished he had a map, which would make finding his way much easier.

“Need some help?” A young girl stood in front of him, wearing a bikini top and cut-off shorts. It was warm, but it wasn’t _that_ warm.

“I’m looking for Plassman Hall.”

“Well, you’re on the right track.” She turned and pointed further down the walkway. “At the next cross-walk you want to make a left and then you’ll be right in front of it.”

“Thanks.”

“You look a little old to be a student,” she said, giving him an appraising look. Jim shook his head. _Kids._

“I’m a detective with the Cascade Police Department,” he said.

“Oh, yeah? Cool. You here to arrest someone?”

“Why? Is there someone breaking a law I should know about?”

“Probably,” she replied with a shrug. “You’re pretty hot for a cop.”

Jim fought not to roll his eyes. “No law against that.”

“Guess not. Have a nice day!” And then she was off to join a gaggle of females that were sunning themselves in the grass. 

Jim tried not to feel old as he made his way to Plassman Hall. Luckily there was a receptionist who directed him to Dr. Sanchez’ office. He encountered a lot of noise in the halls – students and teachers talking, printers and copiers running, doors slamming, someone typing on an electric typewriter. Then his hearing bottomed out, muffling everything and leaving him momentarily disoriented until it came back up to normal levels.

“…okay?”

Jim shook his head, as if to clear the residual numbness out of his ears, and saw that Gertie had hold of his arm.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You’re Professor Sandburg’s friend, right?” she asked. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“Jim. I have an appointment with Dr. Sanchez.”

Gertie looked at him with sympathy. “Follow me.”

“Gertie, right?” The girl nodded. “Does the department have any of Dr. Brightman’s files or papers stored anywhere?”

“Basement record room, most likely. Why do you ask?”

Jim pulled out his badge and showed it to the girl; her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m looking for anything that will show Dr. Brightman’s movements the last few weeks before she died. Maybe a date book or a calendar or something like that.”

Gertie stopped and looked him over. “You’re a cop? And you’re investigating Dr. Brightman’s murder? Does Professor Sandburg know?”

“He’s been assisting me. I’m looking into it unofficially at this point, but I’d appreciate any help you could give me.”

The girl nodded thoughtfully. “Come back to reception when you’re done with Dr. Sanchez. I’ll see what I can dig up for you.”

“I really appreciate it.”

“She was a real nice lady,” Gertie replied. “I’m glad someone still cares what happened to her.”

They started walking again until they came to a door with a little nameplate on it that said _Dr. Sanchez – English Chair_. Gertie knocked and then opened the door without waiting for a response.

“Dr. Sanchez? Mr…uh…”

“Detective Ellison,” Jim supplied.

“Detective Ellison is here to see you.”

“Well, let him in. And get back to those exams, I need them ready in an hour.”

Gertie rolled her eyes so that only Jim could see and headed back down the hall. Jim stepped into the office, which was large and spacious and had a tall window that looked out on the side lawn. Shelves lined one wall, neatly filled with books, and wooden file cabinets stood in a row on another. In the center of the office was an oversized oak desk holding a laptop, a phone and little else. The man was tidy.

Dr. Sanchez stood and held out his hand. Jim shook it, assessing the man as he did so. Sanchez was solidly built, though it wasn’t readily apparent how much of that was muscle and how much was flab. His hair was that shade of black that looked almost blue, cut short, and his features spoke of a mixed Latin heritage. He had a firm handshake, and Jim noted a large school ring on his right hand and a diamond pinky ring on his left.

“Detective Ellison, please sit down.”

Jim did so, in one of the two faux-leather chairs that faced the desk.

“I have to admit, I was surprised to get your call. I didn’t think anyone was still looking into Sally’s death.” His voice was warm and friendly, and the man seemed completely at ease, but Jim wasn’t fooled; Sanchez started twisting the pinky ring back and forth on his finger, a sign of nerves.

“All cold cases are reviewed periodically,” Jim explained. “Sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes to see something someone else missed. I’m just following up on a few leads; nothing will probably come of it, but I believe in being thorough.”

That seemed to put Dr. Sanchez more at ease and he folded his hands together on the desktop. “How can I help?”

“Did you work closely with Dr. Brightman?”

“Well, naturally all of us in the department work together. Though we all have our unique specialties, there’s some overlap. We have regular faculty meetings and semi-regular dinners, where we can exchange ideas or discuss particularly difficult students. I try to foster a very collaborative environment.”

Jim tried to look like he was impressed by that bit of hot air and preening. He pulled out his notebook, though he didn’t really need it. Dr. Sanchez focused right in on it, though, and went back to worrying his pinky ring.

“Did any of the other instructors have a grudge against Dr. Brightman? Professional jealousy, maybe?”

“No, not that I noticed. Oh, there’s always a bit of sniping when someone publishes with the frequency and popularity that Sally did, but it wasn’t anything serious.” The man’s eyes widened. “You don’t think someone in the English department killed her, do you?”

“Like I said, Dr. Sanchez, I’m just trying to make sure I have all my facts straight. It’s not likely that any of your people are responsible for her death. A solid motive has yet to be determined.”

“Oh, well. That’s certainly a relief, Detective.”

“You published a book a couple of years ago, right?” Jim asked, swiftly changing topic. “I hear it did very well, commercially.”

Dr. Sanchez beamed. “Yes, it did so much better than anyone had anticipated. Chaucer may seem like a dry and dusty subject to you, I’m sure. Most people are put off by the antiquated language, which makes it so hard to read. It’s difficult to explain to someone unfamiliar with that period in literature.”

“I was always fond of _The Miller’s Tale_ ,” Jim said, straight-faced. “Although I expect most boys would be. ‘Kissed her naked arse full savorly.’ Funny the things that stick in your head. I prefer _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ , though.”

Dr. Sanchez just goggled at him. He probably thought all cops were barely literate. Sometimes it was easier to let people think that way, but Jim was no dummy and he didn’t like this guy.

“Yes, well, the aim of my book was to make Chaucer more accessible for today’s youth. Students think something like the Canterbury Tales is outdated and better off forgotten, when there are countless parallels to life in modern times.”

Jim nodded solemnly. “Did Dr. Brightman help you with your research? Chaucer fell right into her specialty area. The early Renaissance, wasn’t it?”

More ring twisting. “Well, yes, we did collaborate a bit. She was a very generous woman. She liked the direction I was taking with my book and offered some very helpful suggestions.”

“I’m sure she did.” 

“Have you talked to her ex-husband?” Sanchez asked. “I heard their divorce was less than amicable.”

Jim tucked his notebook away and stood up. “We’re looking into everything. Thank you very much for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me, Dr. Sanchez.”

The other man stood as well and they shook hands; Sanchez had sweaty palms this time around.

“If you think of anything that might be helpful, please give me a call.” Jim handed him a business card with his work number on it. “I’ll see myself out.”

He left the other man staring at the business card and closed the door behind him. Dr. Sanchez definitely knew something, though whether it was directly related to his case or not Jim couldn’t say. For now he wouldn’t push too hard, but he’d be taking a closer look at Sanchez’s financials and see if he got any pings for criminal activity. If there’d been so much as a noise complaint against him, Jim would find it.

“Mr. Ellison!” Gertie called out as he came back to the reception desk. “You survived!”

They shared a laugh. “Just barely. Were you able to find anything?”

“Not really. Dr. Brightman’s family came and collected most of her things. But I dug out my calendar from that year; it has all of her appointments and meetings written on it.”

Gertie handed him a slim calendar in a blue vinyl cover. He opened it to find a two-page spread for each month and all of Dr. Brightman’s activities written in a small, precise hand.

“Do you mind if I borrow this?” 

“No, please take it. Anything I can do to help.”

“This is great, thanks Gertie. One more thing. How do I get to Hargrove Hall?”

*o*o*o*

Jim sat in a chair outside Blair’s office, waiting for the young professor to come back from the class he was teaching. It wasn’t any quieter here than it had been in Plassman; sometimes his hearing spiked up and he could hear lectures being given in classrooms on the two floors above. His headache had moved forward and was throbbing quite nicely, but when he tried to fish the Tylenol out of his pocket he was thwarted when his hands suddenly went numb. He was going to have to leave soon, go somewhere quieter.

He heard the click of Julie’s nails on the linoleum floor and looked up. Blair was coming down the hall, talking with a hulking mountain of a student that had to be on the rugby team or the football team. He should have made Blair look small, towering over him as he was, but Jim wasn’t sure anything could make him looked diminished. His face was animated, his free arm waving around as he talked; there was a lot of energy crammed into that compact body.

“…nothing to be afraid of. Worst case, she says no. You’ll still be exactly where you are, man.”

“But what if she says _yes_?” the student asked in a deep, rumbling voice. Jim could hear the fear in it and fought to hide a grin. Big guy like that was afraid of a girl?

“If she says yes, you take her out for a nice dinner and get to know each other. You can do this, Freddie. I know you can.”

“Can I call you? After, I mean.”

“You can call me any time.”

“Thanks, Professor.” The stopped in front of the office door and Jim looked up, up, up at the student. “There’s a guy waiting here for you.”

Blair grinned. “That’d be my friend, Jim. You go off now and make some dinner reservations. I’m feeling pretty confident you’ll get to use them.”

“Okay.” The student shambled off.

“So,” Jim said. “In addition to teaching Anthropology you also give advice to the lovelorn?”

“Only for special cases,” Blair replied. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. “Come on in.”

Blair’s office was small but tidy, everything arranged just so. He had an L-shaped desk with a computer and what looked like some kind of scanner on it. Little plastic cups were lined up at the top of his desk blotter, holding paper clips, rubber bands and small post-it notes. Jim took a seat in front of the desk while Blair went around behind it. Julie lay at his feet, out of sight.

“Freddie has some self-esteem issues, poor kid. But I think the girl he’s asking out tonight will surprise him.” Blair pulled a packet of index cards from the pocket of his shirt and put them in a drawer. “How did it go with Dr. Sanchez?”

“Well, you were right, Chief. Flattery got me everywhere.”

Blair chuckled and produced a different bundle of index cards wrapped in a rubber band. “Told you so. Guy thinks he’s God’s gift.”

“Well, he knows something. Or he’s hiding something. I just don’t know what yet.” Jim watched as Blair took the rubber band off the index cards and started running his fingers over the top one; he could see now that they had Braille dots covering them.

“So what’s next? You pull him into an interrogation room and hit him with a phone book until he cracks and spills his guts?”

“Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” Jim swallowed a chuckle. “Do I need to bring you in so you can learn how real police work is done?”

“Nah. The TV stuff is much more entertaining.” Blair ripped one of his cards in half and put it in the trashcan next to his desk. He produced a clean one from a drawer and slid it into a thin metal frame that had regular, rectangular holes spaced along the length of it.

“What is that?” Jim asked curiously, leaning forward.

“It’s a Braille slate.” Blair held it out for Jim’s inspection. “It’s a quick way for taking notes when I have a lecture. I have a Braille printer at home for the longer stuff.”

He used a short, plastic stylus to start quickly punching in the dots. Jim watched him moving right to left across the slate, and realized he had to write everything backward so that when he flipped the card over he could read it the proper way. He wondered how long it had taken to learn to do that, and suddenly his sight spiked up until he could see the concavity of each dot as it was made and the ragged edges wherever the stylus punched all the way through. He focused so hard on those dots that he didn’t even realize it when he drifted away.

The next thing he was aware of was someone smacking him in the face. He jerked backwards and almost over-balanced the chair. His cheeks were stinging, and he was disoriented.

“Jim? Jim!”

“Did you hit me?” he asked, confused. Blair was standing next to him, one hand wrapped so tightly around Jim’s wrist that his knuckles were white.

“You were non-responsive, man! You scared the shit out of me!”

Jim could hear the truth of it in the other man’s voice, the way it trembled, and he felt guilty. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Jim, just tell me what the hell happened. Is this why you’re on desk duty?”

“Can I have my arm back?” Jim asked. He felt drained, as he always did after one of these episodes. Blair flushed and released his wrist, but didn’t move away from his side.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Jim scrubbed his hands over his face. It was the truth, though – in every other respect he was feeling just fine. No headache, no sensory spikes.

Blair leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there some medication or something you should be taking?”

“No, nothing like that. The doctors don’t know what’s wrong with me, to tell you the truth.” Jim sighed, frustrated. “It’s probably something neurological, but they can’t find the cause. I have these blackouts. My senses are all out of whack – sounds, smells, tastes. Captain Banks has me on desk duty because I can’t be trusted out in the field.”

“That’s why you aren’t driving,” Blair said. Jim gave him a sharp look; the other man’s voice sounded strange, flat. His face was completely expressionless, his eyes hooded and empty as always.

“Yeah. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Right. Well, naturally.”

Now Jim was the one concerned, watching as Blair made his way to a bookshelf in the corner. There were Braille labels stuck to the spines of the books and he ran his fingers over them until he found the one he wanted. He pulled it off the shelf and held it out in Jim’s general direction.

“Take it. Read it.”

Jim got up and grabbed the book. It was old, the leather binding cracked. The title was stamped in faded gold across the front – _The Sentinels of Paraguay_. 

“What’s this?”

“I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a fucking cosmic joke at my expense, that’s what it is.” Blair rested his head against the bookshelf, his voice laced with a bitterness Jim could almost taste.

“Blair, what’s wrong?” Jim felt like he was on rocky ground here. He didn’t know the other man well enough to be able to judge what might be going through his head, or how best to handle the mood he was in now. He wondered if the best plan of action was just to leave.

“You’re having sensory spikes. Things don’t taste right. Your clothes are irritating your skin. You’re hearing, seeing, smelling things you shouldn’t be. That about right?”

Jim gaped at him. “How do you know that?” he whispered.

“When did it start?”

“Three weeks ago. I was on a stakeout in the woods.” It had been the water, he remembered. The water had been boiling, and it was much too loud. It had all gone downhill after that, almost costing him the whole Switchman case. But the only ones he’d told about it had been Simon and Dr. McCoy.

“Before my accident I was working on a dissertation about Sentinels. I couldn’t continue with my research…after. Maybe because a true Sentinel had always remained just out of my reach, or maybe I just had too many other things going on. I don’t know. And now here you are. Too damn late.” Blair went back behind his desk and lowered himself carefully in his chair.

“I don’t understand,” Jim said. Which was the understatement of the year. “What’s a Sentinel?”

Blair sighed. “A Sentinel is someone genetically pre-disposed to have heightened senses. Touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing. With these senses, he became a watchman that kept his tribe safe, helped them find food, that kind of thing. I’ve met a lot of people with one or two heightened senses, but never one with all five.”

In their short acquaintance, Jim had never seen the younger man look anything but buoyant and happy. Now he was practically morose, his face as closed as a fist. But all Jim could feel was relieved. His condition had a name; it wasn’t unknown.

“Can you fix it? Can you turn the senses off?” he asked eagerly. Blair raised his head, looking honestly surprised.

“Why would you want that?”

“I can’t live like this, Chief. I can barely do my job. I have headaches all the time. I can’t control this at all. I…I need it to go away.” He knew he sounded desperate, but he didn’t care; he just wanted things to be normal.

“Jim.” That one word was saturated with understanding and compassion. “I know what it’s like, man. I felt like that, after my accident. I just wanted things back the way they used to be. But you know what? I got help. I learned how to keep living, just in a different way. All you need to do is learn control, to use the senses instead of having them use you. I mean, you’d be like a walking forensics lab, man.”

Jim heard the truth in his words and surprised himself when tears gathered in his eyes. If Blair could learn to deal with the loss of one of his senses, then he could at least try to do the same with his five overactive ones.

“Will you help me?” he asked in a quiet, quavering voice.

Blair tapped the fingers of one hand on the desk for a moment, considering, and then he finally smiled. “How’d you like to come over for dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** Well, Jim’s big secret is out. And I bet you weren’t expecting that reaction from Blair. Well, he has his reasons. You’ll get some of those in the next chapter. Meanwhile, Jim is on the case. Will Gertie’s calendar reveal any clues? Stay tuned!


	5. Chapter 5

Blair lived in a first floor apartment just a few blocks from Rainier. Jim wasn’t impressed with the level of security; the front lobby door was only accessible with a key and you had to be buzzed in if you didn’t have one, but once you got past that you could go anywhere in the building unchecked. 

“Nice place,” Jim said when Blair let him in. It was small, but with a level of cleanliness that the very tidy detective approved of. The walls were mostly bare, save for a few tribal masks. There were no photographs or prints anywhere that he could see, though there were several full bookshelves. Julie was waiting to greet him as well, tail wagging, and he was surprised to see her without her harness on before he realized that Blair wouldn’t need her services here in the house. 

“I, uh, brought coffee cake.”

“Thanks, man.” Blair took the box from Jim. “I’m making pork chops.”

Jim followed him into the kitchen and took a seat on one of the stools at the island.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“You have beer?”

“Of course.” Blair reached into the fridge and pulled out a Corona, and Jim didn’t comment on the fact that he had his favorite beer on hand. Coincidence? Or had he picked it up just for tonight? 

“Hope you like zucchini.” Blair moved to a cutting board on the counter and picked up a large knife. Jim made an abortive motion to stop him – wasn’t that dangerous for a man who couldn’t see? – and then he saw that the knife was actually attached to the cutting board and Blair was using something as a cutting guide in his other hand. He made quick work of the zucchini and carefully transferred it to a frying pan. All of his movements in the kitchen were precise and economical, and brought Jim’s attention to the many dangers that awaited someone who couldn’t see.

“So, I’ve been thinking about how to help you with the sensory thing,” Blair said while he cooked. “How’s your headache right now?”

“I don’t have one,” Jim said with a shrug. “I never do around you.”

The other man froze in the act of sautéing the vegetables, his back to Jim. “What?”

“Everything just kind of…levels out. Every time I’m around you.” He flushed with embarrassment as he said it, glad that Blair couldn’t see. He didn’t know why it made him feel so weird. 

“Oh.”

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounds,” Jim added hastily, and then cringed at his own words. What the hell was he _saying_? But Blair only laughed.

“Oh, well, _that’s_ a relief.”

Jim relaxed, the tension suddenly gone. He was starting to feel like he was regressing back to high school, getting all flustered around the cheerleaders, and reassured himself that he didn’t think about his new friend _that way_. It was just, he’d never known anyone who was blind. And this whole…what did he call it?...sentinel thing was messing everything up.

In short order dinner was finished cooking and ready to be served. Blair handed Jim a plate. “Do you mind if we do self-serve? I hate having to dirty pans _and_ serving dishes.”

“I’ve been known to eat straight from the stove,” Jim admitted.

“You know, you’re not doing much to dispel the macho stereotype of law enforcement personnel, Detective.”

Once more Jim had to hold back from the playful swat he wanted to dole out, and frowned at this impulse he had to constantly touch Blair. It’s not like he was normally a touchy-feely guy. Maybe it was just because he _couldn’t_ touch that he wanted to so badly, and that was just stupid psychology messing with his head.

“Don’t make me get out the phone book,” he teased instead.

Blair held up his hands in mock horror, and then stood back so that Jim could serve himself. Everything looked really good, and he hoped his sense of taste allowed him to enjoy it. At Blair’s insistence he grabbed another beer from the fridge and sat down at the little round kitchen table. His friend soon joined him, and Jim saw that he had a piece of curved blue plastic hooked on to one side of his plate, presumably to act as a sort of bumper.

“Don’t be shy,” he said. “Dive in.”

“Looks great,” Jim replied. He started slicing his pork chop, then looked over to watch Blair do the same. The younger man used his fork as a guide, stabbing it into the meat and then cutting directly behind it. That shouldn’t have fascinated Jim as much as it did.

“So, I was thinking about your sensory problem,” Blair said between bites. “If you don’t mind thinking outside the box a little, I’m pretty sure I can come up with some strategies for you.”

“You really think I can get a handle on them? Learn to use them?” Jim wasn’t stupid; he could see the advantages of heightened senses, particularly on the job. Blair had said he’d be like a forensics lab, and that would give him an unbelievable edge. _If_ he could get control.

“Yeah, I do. I have some ideas, though some of this will probably be hit or miss. I mean, I’m no expert on Sentinels.” Blair tapped his fork against the blue bumper on his plate. “Thing is, according to my research Sentinels had a partner, someone to watch their back while they were doing their thing. The blackouts you’ve been having, for instance. The partner would make sure the Sentinel was safe while at the same time drawing him back out of it. I call them zone outs.”

Jim found himself nodding along as Blair warmed up to his subject. No expert? Ha. He doubted there was anyone else in Cascade, or probably the entire US, that even knew what a Sentinel was.

“See, the reason for the zones is that you’re focusing too much on one sense. And I know you don’t have control over that right now, man, so that just makes things worse. I think it’s a smart thing, you not driving. Lots of potential for disaster there.”

“So does that mean you’re supposed to be my partner?” Jim asked.

“What?” Blair looked surprised and dropped his fork on his plate with a clang.

“You know what to do. So you can help me. And everything works better when I’m around you, so that’s like a sign or something, right?” As he said it, Jim felt that it was true, that it was _right_. But Blair was shaking his head slowly back and forth.

“No. No, I don’t think so. I mean, that person would have to protect you. Jim, I can’t do that. I’m not _equipped_ for that.” He waved his hand in front of his eyes. “Have you forgotten what you do for a living, _Detective_? It’s not like I can run around to crime scenes with you. Hell, I can’t even run proper tests on you, on the senses. Not without having some kind of research assistant that can see the results, document them visually.”

Jim frowned. “You want to study me? Like a lab rat?”

Blair let out a chuckle. “We’re not talking alien autopsy here, Jim. We need to establish a baseline, know what your limits are.”

“I can’t have random people knowing about this, Chief.”

“I understand that. But if we don’t get someone else involved, I just don’t know how I can help you.”

Jim let out a frustrated breath. “I’m just not sure, okay? You said you had some ideas…what are they?”

“Let me clean up the dinner things, and then we can talk in the living room.”

“I’ll help.” Jim grabbed his plate but Blair held up his hand. 

“I’ve _got_ this. Why don’t you go get comfortable inside and I’ll just load these things into the dishwasher.”

“But…”

“I’ve got this,” Blair repeated, and there was firmness in his tone that Jim couldn’t help but admire. Maybe the kid just wanted to show how capable he was, which wasn’t exactly a news flash. It felt wrong to leave him to do all the clean up, though; that’s not how Jim was raised.

“You want some coffee?”

“Yeah, coffee would be good.”

“Just give me a few minutes, okay?”

Jim gave in and wandered back to the living room, where Julie was sprawled out in front of the couch. He walked around, taking a closer look at the bookshelves. Blair had enough books to open a store, all of them neatly labeled in Braille on the spines. There was a fancy CD player and stacks of CDs, both music and audio books. There were a few small stone sculptures interspersed with the books, but no photographs. In one corner of the room was a computer desk, holding a laptop and a large printer; presumably the one that Blair mentioned that printed in Braille.

Even if he hadn’t heard Blair coming in, Julie’s raised head and thumping tail would have alerted him. He hurried over to relieve the other man of one of the coffee mugs that he was carefully carrying into the room.

“I don’t know what you want in it,” Blair said, setting his own mug down on a coaster on the coffee table. “I figure you for black, but you never can be sure about these things.”

“Black is fine, thanks.”

“Okay. Back in a sec with the cake.”

“You want some help?” Jim couldn’t keep from asking.

“I got it.”

Jim sat on the couch and took a sip of his coffee. It was nice and strong, just the way he liked it. His host soon returned with two pieces of coffee cake on little dessert plates, one with a smaller blue bumper on it, and forks sticking out of the pocket of his flannel shirt. The kid certainly had a thing for flannel.

They sat side by side on the couch, drinking coffee and eating cake, and Jim couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed. This was all just so normal, which was ironic considering his new-found Sentinel diagnosis and the fact that the other guy was blind as a bat.

When Blair was half done with his cake, he pushed the plate back and turned towards Jim. Didn’t he ever get all the way through a meal?

“Okay, you need to get control over the senses. I think it would be helpful if you had a kind of visual representation to use to help with that; it’s a visualization technique.”

“Visualization?” Jim asked dubiously.

“Trust me, this could work.” Blair reached out, his hand alighting on Jim’s knee. “Close your eyes, and take some deep breaths.”

“You sure this isn’t some kind of elaborate prank?” Jim asked, only half-jokingly. Blair shook his head, and squeezed his knee.

“Just close your eyes.”

“How do you know they aren’t already closed?”

“I’m a part-time psychic. Just close them already.”

Jim grinned and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths as he’d been instructed.

“Relax. Let any tension you’re holding just flow right out of your body.”

“I’m not tense.”

“I didn’t say you were tense.”

“I can’t get rid of tension I don’t have,” Jim pointed out.

“You’ve got the attention span of a gerbil, man. Forget the tension.” Blair sounded exasperated. “Now close your eyes and relax. Let’s journey to the part of the brain where your senses converge.”

Jim chuckled. “What is this, _Fantastic Voyage_?”

“If you’d rather not have my help…”

“Okay, all right. I’m converging.” He tried to see it all in his mind, which just made him smirk because he was trying to see his mind _with_ his mind.

“Now, picture something that you can control. Picture a dial.”

“Got it,” Jim confirmed. He imagined the large dial from his grandfather’s old radio, cream-colored and textured with little bumps.

“Okay, now see a label on it. This is the dial for hearing. Imagine yourself turning it down, like the volume control on a stereo. Determine what you’d like your normal level to be so that you know where your midline is.” Blair’s voice had deepened and taken on an almost lyrical quality that made Jim wish he’d keep talking. If not for the pressure on his knee, that voice would have drawn him in until everything else just fell away.

“You still with me, Jim?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it working? Can you see it?”

“I…yeah. I can. I almost…” And in his mind he imagined the dial turning, at first shocked and then incredibly excited when his hearing changed as well. “It’s working!”

“That’s great! Now fiddle with the dial, just like you’re trying to find the right station instead of a bunch of static. Figure out what’s too high, what’s too low, and set that dial right in the middle. Can you do that?”

Jim suspected that voice could compel him to do just about anything, but he was too giddy to care. He dialed up until he could hear water dripping in a bathroom somewhere on the third floor, then dialed back down until sounds were confined to just this apartment. He opened his eyes, blinking a little at the light.

Impulsively, he covered Blair’s hand with his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It worked! I can’t believe it worked! Thank you!”

Blair looked startled, but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, a wide smile brightened his face. “Really? That’s great! You just need to repeat the process for all your senses, and then you’ll be able to adjust the dials as needed.”

“You’re amazing,” Jim said. “How did you even think of that?”

“My mom is into a lot of new-age stuff. Trust me, I know more than I ever wanted to about auras and Reiki and the healing power of magnets. So, what do you hear?”

“Right now, just the same apartment sounds that you probably hear.”

“Nudge the dial up a little.”

Jim did so. “Your cell phone is charging…uh…in your bedroom?”

“Wow. Yeah.”

“Your upstairs neighbor is watching a game show and eating something crunchy. Chips maybe. I can hear…oh.” Jim looked at Blair, who had an expression of open amazement on his face.

“What? What else?”

Thump-THUMP. Thump-THUMP. A nice, steady beat. He focused on it, zeroed in, teetered on the edge of a zone-out until Blair twisted his hand around so that it was clasping Jim’s, so that they were essentially holding hands, and squeezed as hard as he could.

“Your heartbeat,” he blurted out. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

“Whoa.” Blair’s eyes widened and Jim got his first good look at them. He couldn’t believe how blue they were, a deep, dark blue. But so blank. Nothing to see in them but his own reflection. He realized then that they were still holding hands and felt his face flush with embarrassment, particularly since he made no move to extricate himself from Blair’s tight hold.

“Just think of it, Jim. Think how that could help you on the job! You could hear perps coming; no-one would ever get the drop on you.”

“Perps?”

“You could hear conversations without a phone tap. Well, I guess that would technically be some sort of civil rights violation, but at least you’d know how to focus your investigation.” Blair was getting more and more animated, his free hand floating around while he gestured to make his point. Somehow, while he was talking, his fingers had gotten twined together with Jim’s; the detective just looked down at their joined hands, trying to deny the attraction that was now skittering across his skin.

“That would hold true for all the senses, really. You won’t need binoculars anymore. You could smell bombs, maybe, like those dogs do. Find someone just by their particular scent.”

“I think you missed your calling, Chief,” Jim said with a grin. “You’d have made a pretty good cop.”

Blair shrugged. “Cop, anthropologist – it’s all about observing human nature, you know? I used to be pretty good at it.”

There was wistfulness in his tone that made Jim frown. “You’re _still_ good at it. You’ve been a huge help to me on this case, particularly because you can read people so well. That’s intuition, not just visual cues.”

Blair didn’t look convinced. “We still haven’t found a motive.”

“I’m not giving up on this case,” Jim said firmly. “We’ll just keep digging until we find what we’re looking for. You’ll keep helping, won’t you?”

He hoped he didn’t sound too needy. It had been a long time since he’d worked with a partner and he found that he’d missed it. It was nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of. He supposed he couldn’t discount the idea that he was in fact a little bit attracted to Blair. That hadn’t happened in a while, either.

“I’m not sure what else I can do.”

“Oh. Uh…” Jim hastily went over everything he had so far on the case, looking for some excuse to see Blair again. “Dr. Brightman’s calendar! Gertie gave that to me today and I could use your help going through it. You’d know what was legitimate university business and what could be something else, right?”

Blair seemed hesitant. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You’d really be doing me a favor,” Jim said earnestly.

“Well…okay. If you think it’ll help.”

He mentally cheered at the capitulation. Now for the really hard part, and he wasn’t sure how well this would fly.

“Do you think you could come to my place on Saturday? I owe you a dinner. Two, actually.”

Blair looked flustered, and pulled his hand from Jim’s. “Oh, well, I don’t know about that. I mean, it would be fine to do it here. I don’t mind cooking.”

It was as he’d suspected. The younger man didn’t like to venture away from familiar territory, not that Jim could blame him. It made him a little sad for Blair, who once traveled far enough from home to see the Southern Cross and now was too uncertain even to go to downtown Cascade.

“I’d really like to cook for you,” Jim said softly. “I’d pay the cab fare.”

“I’m sorry, Jim, really. I just…I can’t.”

“Okay. How about a compromise then?” Jim curled his fingers against his palm, missing the warmth of Blair’s hand. “I could come here, but you’ll have to let me do the cooking.”

Blair was ridiculously relieved at the suggestion, and Jim vowed to get him over to the loft if it was the last thing he did. The last thing he wanted to do was make the other man uncomfortable.

“That would be okay. Saturday? What time?”

“Three? We could go through the calendar while dinner is cooking. Do you like pasta? I make a mean marinara sauce.”

“Sounds good.”

After that there wasn’t really anything for Jim to do but go home. Blair called him a cab, remarking that once he got the dials all under control he could finally go back to driving his own vehicle again. Jim couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel of his truck; he hated that loss of independence almost as much as the expense of paying for a cab all the time.

“Call me if anything comes up, okay?” he asked, pausing in the doorway. He was reluctant to leave. 

“Of course. Same goes for you.”

“Thanks, Blair. For dinner, for the dials.” Once again, he had to restrain himself from reaching out to touch. “You really saved my life here.”

“That’s what a good deputy is for, Detective Jim,” Blair quipped. But Jim could tell that he was pleased, and a little embarrassed. 

“Well…see you Saturday.”

“Good night, Detective.”

“Good night, Deputy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** Some of the dialogue in this chapter came for the season two episode Out of the Past, which is the first time dials are mentioned and Blair walks Jim through setting up one for pain. Now Jim has to convince Blair to be his Guide, which is definitely a switch – I know you were looking for that, smiles2go! But most importantly, Jim is developing feelings other than friendship for our favorite curly-haired anthropologist. Some fun now!


	6. Chapter 6

Jim used his lunch break the following day to pay a visit to the Resource Center for the Blind on State Street, which was only three blocks down from the station. He’d only ever been peripherally aware that it existed but he knew right where to find it; he’d been a cop in Cascade long enough to have a pretty good idea where most things in the city were located. He wanted to know more about what life was like for Blair, and how to accommodate him.

The single-story brick building was occupied by a dry cleaner, an electronics store, and the Resource Center on the end. A large-print sign on the door advertised the hours of operation, and in the front window was a Service Dogs Permitted sign and an array of items geared towards helping people who had vision impairments. A bell over the door tinkled as Jim stepped inside and even though he didn’t need to, he adjusted his hearing dial. This was the first day he’d been headache free since his senses had started acting up and he was in an unusually good mood.

One side of the space was occupied by regular store shelves, though all the signs were large print. Jim could see things like talking clocks and voice recognition software. The other side was set up like an office, with three cubicles behind a main desk. A large literature rack hung on the wall, stuffed with all manner of informational brochures and pamphlets. The woman behind the main desk was an Amazon – big boned, tall, and muscular. She wore a plain blue button-down shirt and had a glittering butterfly clip in her short blonde hair.

“Can I help you?” 

“Uh…yeah. I have this friend, well we really only just met, and he’s…” Jim flapped his hand in the direction of the store.

“Visually impaired?” the Amazon supplied with a smile.

“Yes, right. I was just hoping to maybe learn more about his, um, condition. You know, what I can do to, ah, help.”

The Amazon came around the desk, holding her hand out. She was even bigger up close; Jim almost had to tip his head back to look her in the eye. “I’m Sharon.”

“Jim.” They shook hands and he wasn’t surprised to feel what a firm grip she had. 

“Why don’t we have a seat, Jim.” Sharon led him over to a seating area that had a long corduroy couch and two matching armchairs. “Does your friend have partial or total vision loss?”

“Total. I think. Well, I guess I don’t know for sure. I mean, I didn’t ask him or anything.”

“That’s okay.”

“He’s got a dog, a seeing eye dog. Julie.”

That earned him another grin from Sharon. “Oh, you’ve met Blair. Yes, he has total vision loss. He’s a sweetheart. He helps out with the VisionWalk every year.”

Jim had a vague recollection of some kind of charity event that happened in early fall. As a detective in Major Crimes he wouldn’t have been asked to do crowd control, but most likely he’d commiserated with those unlucky cops that did; crowd control was on par with working traffic.

“He’s helping me with a…project. And I’d just like to know if there are things I should or shouldn’t be doing. You know. To make things easier.”

Sharon gave him an appraising look. “It says a lot about you that you’d come down here and ask that. The thing you most want to remember when dealing with people who are visually impaired is that they’re still just regular people. Blair is not a blind person, he’s a person who happens to also be blind. Don’t assume he’s going to need help – ask him first, just like you would anyone else.”

“I’ve already learned that lesson,” Jim said ruefully. “He had me over for dinner and wouldn’t let me do anything.”

“He had you over?” Sharon asked, surprised. “Wow. He must like you. Blair’s very protective of his personal space.”

“I’ve noticed that too. He doesn’t like to be touched.”

“It’s a problem for many people who have a visual impairment. It’s a fear of the unexpected. You’d be surprised how much we rely on visual cues from other people, how movement can be anticipated. My advice is to always announce your intentions and give him a chance to say yes or no.”

Jim nodded. “I was wondering…is it hard to learn Braille?”

Sharon held up a finger and went over to the pamphlet rack. When she returned, she handed Jim a four by nine inch white card that had the Braille alphabet punched into it, with the printed letters beneath.

“This is a good way to get started. Familiarize yourself with the individual letters, and then you can work up towards stringing them together to make words and sentences.”

Jim ran his finger over them, and vowed to create his touch dial as soon as possible so that he could feel each arrangement of dots more clearly. “If I wanted to label things, like cabinets, what would you recommend?”

“We have a variety of labels and label makers in the store,” Sharon said, gesturing to the shelves. “It basically depends on your needs. Clear labels are popular for the sighted because they don’t stand out so starkly. Were you planning on labeling things around your house?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I’d like to have Blair over, but I’m not sure he’ll come.”

“It can take a long time for someone with vision impairment to move out of their safety zone. Someone that hasn’t experienced it can have a hard time understanding, but I can give you an idea.” Sharon stood up. “When I walk from here to my desk, my steps are sure because I can see where each one will fall. I’m aware of the ground, of any obstacles in my path, and don’t have to consciously think about where I’m stepping.”

“Okay, and I get it that someone that’s blind wouldn’t have those visual cues to work with.”

“That’s right. Someone with total blindness doesn’t know what’s going to be under their feet from one step to the next. Even on a route they regularly travel, things can change – a break in the sidewalk, a wrapper carelessly discarded that could cause someone to slip. Even a trained guide dog will only recognize certain hazards.”

Jim had to admit that he hadn’t thought about things like that. When he considered all the possible hazards a person could meet just walking a block in the city he was amazed that people like Blair ever left their homes. He told himself to remember that the next time he wanted to badger his new friend about coming into the city. He checked his watch.

“I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me,” he said, standing. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“That’s what the Center is here for,” Sharon said with a grin. “On a personal note, I think very highly of Blair; I’d hate for him to get hurt in any way.”

Jim recognized the threat for what it was and nodded solemnly. “Neither would I.”

“Well, that’s alright then. You come back if you have any other questions, or if you want to look at those labels.”

They shook hands and Jim headed back to work, holding the Braille card carefully.

*o*o*o*

There were two large canvas bags on the island in Jim’s loft, packed full of everything he’d need to fix dinner for Blair and himself – sauce base, veggies, pasta, a loaf of Italian bread that would be transformed into garlic bread. Jim kept reviewing his mental checklist, trying to determine if he’d forgotten anything. He packed up the big pasta pot, but hesitated over the colander. After a brief internal debate, he pulled out his cell phone and called Blair.

_Yes, Jim. Whatever it is this time, I’m sure I have it._

Jim winced, even though Blair sounded amused instead of annoyed. It was possible he’d called too many times checking up on spices and cookware.

“Last time, I promise. Do you have a colander? Because I have…”

_Yes, Jim. I have a colander. I do have to strain things from time to time. It fills up my sink, so it should be big enough._

Jim could picture the grin on the other man’s face and let himself relax. “Okay. Good. Well, I’ll be there in a little while then.”

 _Okay, Detective_ , Blair replied cheerily before ending the call.

The last time he’d been this nervous about dinner, Jim had asked Carolyn out for the first time. Not that he was in any way comparing Blair to his ex-wife, because that was wrong on so many levels. And he firmly chastised himself for thinking this was a date, because it wasn’t. It was a working dinner, that was all. Just dinner. 

“Crap,” he muttered to himself, realizing he hadn’t given a thought to dessert. His hand reached for his phone but he pulled it back, shaking his head ruefully. He really needed to get a grip here. Jim cast a glance at the basket next to the door, briefly contemplating taking the truck. He’d been doing well with the dials but he wasn’t sure he was quite ready for driving yet. Instead he called for a cab and carried his bags downstairs to wait.

He leaned against the outside of the building, bags at his feet, and closed his eyes. He listened to the sounds of the traffic going by on the street, and followed a group of woman who were talking as they came down the sidewalk and went past him, wondering all the while what it would be like to live that way all the time. Jim took a hesitant step forward, surprised to find that he was sliding his foot even though he knew perfectly well where he would be stepping. How did Blair get around so confidently all the time?

Jim opened his eyes when the cab pulled up, blinking a bit under the brightness of the day. He slid into the backseat with his bags and gave the driver Blair’s address. He was excited by the prospect of working with the kid, and sincerely hoped that Gertie’s calendar would produce a clue or a lead he could follow, but he had to admit that he also just wanted to spend some time with Blair. He was easy to talk to, smart and talented, and he had a good sense of humor. Jim didn’t make friends easily – he was too focused on the job – and he was smart enough to know this wasn’t an opportunity he should pass up.

When he arrived at Blair’s door, after being buzzed in, Blair and Julie were waiting for him. Jim couldn’t help the feeling of pleasure that came from having someone glad he was there; that hadn’t happened in a long time.

“Hey, Jim.” Blair held the door for him and Jim tried not to knock his bags into the other man as he walked past. “I thought for sure you’d call me a few more times.”

“Sorry about that,” Jim apologized, flushing. “You just never know what someone else has in their kitchen, you know?”

“Don’t worry about it, man.”

Blair followed Jim into the kitchen, where he’d clearly been busy judging by the pile of papers spread across the island countertop. He resumed his seat on the stool and worked at clearing space.

“What are you working on?” Jim asked as he set down the bags and started unloading them. All of the papers were blank except for Braille dots.

“I scanned in some of Dr. Sanchez’s professional papers. I have software that translates the text to Braille.”

“Any reason for the sudden interest?”

Blair nodded. “I try to keep a toe dipped in the academic pool that is Rainier, even outside my subject area. Maybe it’s just my inherent nosiness, but I like to know what people are working on. I read Sanchez’s book back when it first came out, but I thought I’d read some of his other work to broaden my understanding of the man.”

“And what’s the verdict?”

“Even for academic work, this is drier than toast in the desert. I’m telling you, man, this stuff is dullsville.”

“So, what? The book was a fluke?” Jim started opening random drawers, looking for spoons and a can opener.

“I suspect he had some help. Ghostwriter maybe. It’s not unusual; just because you’re a brilliant academic doesn’t mean you’re a good writer.”

Jim nodded, dumping the sauce base into the pot and adding the extra ingredients. “Yeah, I can see that. You ever publish anything, Sandburg?”

“Sure. A few articles here and there, nothing as substantial as a book. Right now I’m working on a paper about the perceptions of the blind in a sighted society.” Blair tapped all his papers into order and left them neatly stacked on the edge of the counter. “It’s fascinating, really. In mythology you have Tiresias, a blind clairvoyant that was revered by pretty much everyone. Right now there are people who do amazing things – in sports, science, even art – without benefit of sight, but the average person on the street is still uncomfortable around us. Unsure how to act, what to say.”

“You should get some gizmos like that CIA guy on _Covert Affairs_.”

Blair laughed. “I should have that kind of funding! I wouldn’t put too much stock in pop culture blindness, big guy. Those guys are always way more badass than they should be.”

“I don’t know, Chief. You seem pretty badass to me.” Jim put the finishing touches on the marinara sauce and set it to simmer. “When I was in basic training, we used to talk about which would be worse – losing sight or losing hearing.”

“Yeah, I think everyone talks about that at some point. It’s natural.” Blair leaned his elbows on the counter. “That smells good already.”

“It’s the best thing I know how to cook,” Jim admitted. “I’m not exactly a chef.”

“Hey, it works for me. You know it’s never too late to learn more. You could take a cooking class or something.”

“I don’t solve this case and I’ll have plenty of free time to pick up new hobbies,” Jim replied with a grin. “Did you always know how to cook?”

“My mom and I traveled pretty extensively when I was growing up, so I learned early on to cook if I wanted to eat; Mom wasn’t always reliable.” Blair shrugged like it wasn’t any big deal, though Jim sensed a much bigger story there. “After the accident I had to relearn a lot of what I knew.”

Jim leaned on the island, across from Blair. “They have classes for that?”

The kid grinned, tucking some of his curly hair behind his ear. “I actually went to the Braille Institute in Santa Barbara. They taught me how to cope, I guess you could say. Gave me a new set of tools to use to get around in the world a different way. And part of that was learning to cook without setting myself on fire.”

“Is that where you got Julie?” Jim didn’t know if having a dog was better than using a cane, unless he looked at it from a companionship perspective; in that case he was glad Blair wasn’t living completely alone, in the dark.

“No. I spent a month in New Jersey at The Seeing Eye. That’s where I was assigned Julie and we learned how to be a team. Best thing I ever did.” 

The warmth in his tone was palpable, and Jim couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have someone talk about him that way. Had Carolyn ever? He wasn’t sure.

“Well, you make a great team, Chief.”

Blair looked surprised and pleased at that, and Jim found himself blushing. Not quite sure what to do with himself he decided the easiest thing would be to get down to business.

“Let me…uh… get that calendar.” The canvas bags had moved to the kitchen table and Jim fumbled around with both of them until he found the calendar. He took a moment to collect himself, and then he sat next to Blair at the counter.

“It’s a good thing I have Superman vision,” he said cheerily.

“Why’s that?”

Jim tapped the calendar with his finger. “Gertie has some tiny, tiny writing.”

“Well, lucky us then.” Blair grinned. “So, I’m thinking we start, what, like three or four months before she died?”

It was exactly what Jim himself had been thinking, and he nodded in approval. “Sounds like a plan, partner. I figure we can go through, eliminate probably a lot of these, and make some notes on anything we have questions on. Oh, crap. I forgot to bring something to write with.” 

“Gotcha covered, big guy.” Blair pulled his small stylus and some index cards out of the pocket of his flannel shirt. “You dictate, I punch.”

Without thinking, Jim nudged him with his shoulder; it had been a long time since he’d worked with a partner and this was part of what he missed about it. When he realized what he’d done he froze, his mouth open to start making apologies. But Blair just bumped him back, grin never leaving his face.

*o*o*o*

“That was really, really good.” Blair pushed his plate away and patted his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

Jim couldn’t help feeling pleased. He’d wanted to impress his new friend, there was no use denying it. It wasn’t like Blair hadn’t done the same; he’d taken two index cards worth of notes, and helped Jim decipher most of Gertie’s shorthand notations.

“Hey, let me see one of those note cards.” One was dutifully handed to Jim across the remains of their dinner. “You know, I was kind of surprised you don’t have a digital voice recorder or a special app or something.”

“I’m old school. Always was.” Blair shrugged. “There’s just something about writing, seeing the words spilling out of the pen. Can’t get that any other way. Now…well, it’s weird for me to listen to the sound of my voice, you know? Despite what my first year Anthro students might say.”

“Not sure anyone likes the sound of their own voice, Chief.” Jim ran his finger over the raised dots on the index card. He’d been practicing with the Braille alphabet he’d gotten from the Resource Center, and thought he was getting pretty good. “So this is…A…H…uh…P?” 

Blair looked surprised. “You can read Braille?”

“I’ve been learning,” Jim said like it was no big deal.

“That’s just…wow. Well, you’re probably good at it, with the heightened sensitivity.” Blair stood up and moved around to Jim’s side of the table. He used one hand to brace himself on the back of the chair while the fingers of his other hand traced down Jim’s arm until they reached the index card, and he found the letters that Jim was trying to read.

“A…H…S,” he corrected quietly, pressed up against Jim’s shoulders. “There’s no dot in the top left column. Can you feel it?”

“Oh,” Jim replied. “Yeah.” He felt momentarily struck dumb; he was quickly getting overwhelmed by the feel of Blair’s body heat, the earthy scent of the hygiene products that rose off his skin, the sound of his heartbeat.

“You know,” Blair said in that same hushed tone. “I always thought it would be worse being deaf. I’d miss the music, the sound rain makes on a metal roof, the voices of my friends.”

“Wind chimes,” Jim said. “I’ve always liked how they sound. Reminds me of summer.”

“Why are you learning Braille, Jim?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but then those nimble fingers were moving back up his arm and he momentarily lost his train of thought. When Blair’s hand settled on his shoulder he swallowed and tried again.

“I want to understand what it’s like. For you. I don’t want it to be this…separate thing that’s always between us. I want to be part of it.”

“Most people just try to overlook my handicap.”

Jim tensed up, and turned in the chair. He grasped Blair’s wrist loosely in his hand. “There’s _nothing_ wrong with you, Chief. You didn’t become some other person when you lost your vision, okay?”

“You didn’t know me before,” Blair challenged, though he made no move to pull away.

“I know you now.” And maybe he didn’t know the kid’s life story, but he knew the important things – Blair was kind, he was smart and insightful, and he had a beautiful singing voice. He helped Jim when no-one else could. Maybe it was the Sentinel thing, but there was a connection between them that was impossible to ignore. He was pretty sure Blair could feel it too, because he moved just a little bit closer.

“Sometimes I feel I really have a handle on this, you know? It’s like my life went on and I dealt with it and I’m doing fine.” His other hand fluttered in the air for a moment before settling on Jim’s arm, fingers twitching in what might’ve been almost-strokes. “And then sometimes there’s…something, some _thing_ , that I know I’m missing and it hits me like a fist, and I just want to see so badly.”

The honesty in his voice made something twist in Jim’s chest, and he tightened his grip on Blair’s wrist. Blair’s other hand fluttered up again and moved hesitantly in the direction of Jim’s head.

“Would it be okay…can I…?”

“Yeah.”

Blair’s hand landed gently on the side of Jim’s head, fingers spread wide. He moved it slowly, just barely touching the skin, and Jim closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he’d been touched, and never the way he was at that moment. Blair mapped his face gently, following every slope of bone, tracing his eyebrows, and skimming over his lips. Jim’s whole face was suffused with heat, seeping into his skin from the tips of Blair’s fingers.

“What color are your eyes?” 

“Blue,” Jim murmured. “Lighter than yours.”

Blair hummed deep in his throat. “Blonde?”

“Brown.”

He carded his fingers through the short hair in question, fluffing it up a little before moving his hand away. It took all of Jim’s strength not to follow it, follow the heat and the touch.

“You don’t pity me,” Blair said. “A lot of people do.”

“No reason to,” Jim replied honestly. He opened his eyes and saw that his new friend was looking thoughtful. He released his hold and let Blair move away. He wanted more, wanted to be the one to touch. But the moment was lost and then they were clearing the table and washing the dishes. Jim noticed, though, that Blair bumped against him a few times, and not by accident. He was glad that his new found partner in crime-solving couldn’t see the big grin on his face.

They lingered over coffee, sitting so close on the couch that their knees were pressed together. Jim didn’t want to leave; it was so comfortable being there with Blair that even their silences were warm. He wondered if there would be resistance to maintaining a friendship after the case was solved, when they no longer had that artificial construct giving them a reason to spend time together.

“I tracked down Brightman’s ex-husband,” he said, needing to fill the silence. “Sanchez tossed him out as a possible person of interest. They had an ugly divorce, and Brightman had a restraining order against him.”

“Any chance he’s our guy?” Blair leaned in as if he didn’t want to miss a word. Jim tried not to be obvious when he took a deep breath, comforted by the scent of the other man in ways that were just a little embarrassing.

“No. He’s doing a dime down in San Quentin for armed assault and grand theft auto. Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have had someone do the job for him but I don’t think that’s the case.” Jim found himself staring at Blair’s hand, which was wrapped around his coffee mug. He could feel the echo of it against his skin.

“So what’s next?” Blair asked. His other hand dangled off the end of the couch to scratch at Julie’s head.

“I’ll take the list of notations we didn’t understand back to Gertie and see if she can shed light on them. I’d like to have another crack at Sanchez, but I don’t have a viable reason to question him again.” Jim had learned, both as a cop and as a Ranger, to trust his instincts, and they were telling him that Sanchez was involved in Brightman’s murder somehow.

“I still don’t think he has a strong motive,” Blair argued amiably. “Just because you treat people like crap doesn’t mean you’re gonna take the next step and kill them, you know?”

“That’s the thing about trying to find a motive, Chief. It only has to make sense to the person perpetrating the crime.” Jim finished off his coffee and set the mug on the coffee table. “Something that might seem incredibly petty to one person can be a trigger for another. A lot of the time we don’t know the true motive for a crime until we question the suspects.”

“Yeah, okay. That makes sense. You think Sally’s death wasn’t just about opportunity.”

Jim shook his head. “I think whoever killed her got extremely lucky. He’d have done it anyway, but the timing was perfect – her murder would get lumped in with the thefts. Assuming it was students working the B&Es, which I think it was, they’d have been too afraid to come forward to try and set the record straight.”

“Are people really that lucky in real life?” 

“You’d be surprised, Chief. I mean, look at us. What are the odds that I’d find someone who knew about Sentinels right when I really needed them most?” Jim nudged Blair’s knee with his own. “I feel pretty lucky.”

Blair grinned. “Yeah, I can get behind that, man. I mean, the timing wasn’t the best from my end but I’m glad you found me.”

Jim thought that it was going to turn into another moment, and he started to lean forward in anticipation, but then Julie whined and Blair’s attention was immediately diverted.

“Okay, girl. I’ve got to take her out,” he said apologetically. 

“That’s okay. I should be going anyway.” Jim reluctantly stood and grabbed both coffee mugs. “I’ll just give the mugs a quick wash.”

“You don’t…”

“Yes I do.” He avoided any further protests by walking away. He washed the mugs and gathered up what he’d brought with him, stuffing it all back into the canvas bags.

“Cab’s on its way,” Blair reported. “When do you think you’ll be ready to get back behind the wheel, big guy?”

“Gonna give myself a test drive soon, I think. You, uh, you interested in coming along for a ride? I promise not to take you across state lines.”

That earned him a chuckle. “You know what? I’ll think about it.”

Jim felt relieved at having managed to avoid an outright no. He could work with a maybe. “How about I give you a call tomorrow, let you know how things go with Gertie? In case you’re in class while I’m on campus.”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll talk to some of the other English profs too, see if they can shed any light on why Sanchez is making your spidey sense tingle.” Blair mimed web slinging and Jim laughed.

“Go walk your dog, Sandburg.”

“Hey, thanks for dinner man. I had a really good time.”

“I did too.”

There was an awkward moment, and then Jim slipped the bag handles over his shoulder and opened up the door. Blair and Julie – back in her full rig – joined him in the hall; the dog was pointed eagerly towards the door at the end of the hall that presumably led to a yard of some kind.

“I’ll be in touch, Deputy.”

“Yessir, Boss!” Blair snapped off a salute and then gave Julie the command _forward_. 

Jim watched them until they were through the other door, and then he went out the front to wait for the cab. He couldn’t deny that yes, this had been a date despite his internal protestations that morning. He wanted to get to know Blair better, get close to him. He was pretty sure he wanted to be more than just friends, or Sentinel and Guide. If only he knew what Blair thought about the whole thing.

 _Maybe I just need to get laid_ , he thought. And then spent the ride home imagining just that, with a partner who looked a whole lot like a certain long-haired musician. That’s when he knew he had it bad. Really bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** Well, things are certainly heating up between Jim and Blair now. More importantly, Blair has a good idea where Jim stands regarding the vision issue. Now if they can only crack the case.
> 
> Have to admit that I like the way this version of Jim is turning out. A little unsure around Blair, but not afraid to vocalize some of what’s going on in his head. And I hope you can forgive me going there with the whole Miracle Worker face thing, but honestly...it was too good a moment to pass up!


	7. Chapter 7

The Major Crimes unit of Cascade PD was often a hive of activity and, during particularly big cases, a scene of controlled chaos. Other days, like today, things were pretty quiet. Murmured conversations, the tapping of computer keys, the odd phone call; though Jim enjoyed the adrenalin rush that came with the cases, the low-key days were also good because he could get caught up on paperwork. And other things. 

He strode across the bullpen, the Brightman file in his hand, and nodded at Rhonda before he knocked on Captain Banks’ door.

“Enter!”

Jim slipped in, closing the door behind him, and sat down in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. The Captain’s office always smelled of coffee – he had a cousin that sent him specialty blends, which he brewed in his own private coffee pot – and cigars, even though he never lit them at work. Simon Banks was a big man, tall and broad-shouldered. He’d been something of a celebrity back in the day, before he came to Cascade; the first African-American Police Captain in Trilling, Texas, a town that was struggling with hate crimes well into the 1990s. He’d worked miracles there, and then single-handedly turned the under-performing MCU around once he’d transferred. Jim for one knew they were lucky to have him.

“You’re looking good, Ellison.” Simon gave him a shrewd look. “How you feeling?”

“Really good, Sir. I’m getting a handle on my…sensitivities.”

The Captain looked genuinely pleased. “Glad to hear it! I’d love to get my best detective back on active duty.”

“That makes two of us.” Jim tossed the case file on the desk. “I thought you might like an update on the Brightman case.”

He outlined the progress he’d made thus far, and let Simon know what further steps he’d be taking. The ex-husband was seemingly a dead end, and Sanchez’ financials had come back clean. The case for murder was still circumstantial, but if there was one thing cops understood it was to trust their gut instincts. Simon nodded thoughtfully and didn’t say anything until Jim had finished making his report.

“So, this blind anthropologist has been consulting on the case? I don’t recall seeing that paperwork cross my desk.”

“Blair has been assisting me in an unofficial capacity, Sir. With his contacts at Rainier and his knowledge of internal politics there, he’s been invaluable in helping me make sense of Dr. Brightman’s world.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “How long have you been rehearsing that, Jim?”

“Just since this morning,” Jim admitted. Simon was very forward thinking, and had mentioned on several different occasions that having outside consultants would be a benefit to the department, citing examples from other cities that were utilizing mathematicians and psychologists within their law enforcement organizations. Still, it was probably a stretch to get a blind man on board and Jim couldn’t help talking Blair up; it wasn’t like anything he said was untrue, after all.

“I can’t have you working with a freelance consultant, Jim, you know that. Even CIs have to be registered.”

“I realize that, Sir. But you should also know that he’s helping me with my…health issue. And I’d like to keep working with him on this case.” Jim took a deep breath. There was no cause for alarm; even if he was told to stop letting Blair assist on the case, it wasn’t like Simon could keep him from seeing the other man altogether. He knew he tended to be hot headed sometimes, especially when he wasn’t getting his way, but this one time he worked at playing it cool. And it paid off.

“As far as the Brightman case is concerned, I’ll give you a little leeway.” Simon sat forward, elbows on his desk. “But you’ll need to come up with something substantial soon. As far as this Sandburg is concerned…get him in here as soon as possible. He’ll need to fill out the paperwork, get on the books. If he’s helping us out, he ought to get reimbursed for his time.”

Jim couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He’d been hoping Simon wouldn’t object to Blair working with him on the case, but to get him signed on officially – it was almost too good to be true.

“Stop that,” Simon said, looking disgruntled in the face of Jim’s pleasure. “Anything goes wrong, and it’s on your head. Do you understand me? I don’t want to discriminate against the man, but blindness is a pretty big detriment.”

“I understand, Sir. And I can assure you that Blair is very capable. I’ll keep him out of harm’s way.”

“See that you do. Now get out of here and go find some evidence.” Simon waved him off and Jim went, an extra spring in his step. He bypassed his desk and went straight to HR.

“Hey, Vera.”

“Detective Ellison.” Vera Hancock, the HR director, was a stickler about titles. She looked up at him from her desk, a cloud of perfume seemingly hovering around her like a very potent cloud. Jim turned down his sense of smell, grinning when it worked. Vera tentatively smiled back at him.

“I was wondering if I could pick up a consultant application. I have someone I need to get on the books.” He leaned on the countertop that separated Vera’s work space from the small waiting area. “Actually, do you have a fillable form online? That might work better.”

“Yes, the form is available online. But you need to have a CPD code to access it. The consultant will still need to come in physically, to be fingerprinted and sign off on some paperwork.”

Jim nodded. “That shouldn’t be a problem. It’ll just be easier to get the application done online. Thanks, Vera! I’ll be back in the next day or so with my consultant.”

“I’ll get a packet put together.”

“You’re the best!” Jim pushed up off the counter and walked out of the office, heedless of the blush that was spreading across Vera’s cheeks. He couldn’t wait to tell Blair that he’d soon be an official consultant for the Cascade Police Department.

*o*o*o*

Jim had a much easier time getting around Rainier on his second visit, and quickly ran Gertie to ground in a room with an enormous copier that was making all kinds of noise; he dialed down.

“Oh, Mr. Ellison! I mean Detective.” Gertie looked totally frazzled. There were smudges of black toner on her fingers and she had an armload of papers. “Was there something you needed?”

“Just some clarification…” he started to say, before being interrupted by a heavyset woman in an ill-fitting pants suit. 

“Gertie, are those copies done yet? My class starts in ten minutes!”

“Nearly done, professor. There was a paper jam.”

“Give me what you’ve got and bring the rest to my office as soon as they’re ready.” The woman took the pile of papers Gertie handed her and left the copy room.

“Oh, Gertie, I’m glad I caught you.” A young man popped his head in the door. “I need more paper clips for Professor Ingram and I don’t see any in the cabinet.”

“I haven’t put them out yet.” Gertie snatched more papers up from the copier. “My office, bottom desk drawer. Take what you need.”

“You rock!” He left and Gertie shot Jim an apologetic look. 

“Sorry, Detective. It’s kind of crazy around here right now.”

“Listen, do you have some time to answer a few questions for me? I’ll treat you to lunch.” 

“Oh. Um…I don’t know.” 

“Come on,” Jim cajoled. “Just a quick lunch. You do get one, don’t you?”

Gertie grinned. “Yeah, I do. Can you give me a few minutes?”

“Sure thing. I’ll meet you out front?”

“Okay.”

Jim didn’t mind waiting. The warm weather was still hanging around, though rain was forecast by the end of the week. He sat down on the steps and took a moment to enjoy the day. He decided he’d take the truck out in the next day or so, see if he could keep it together while he drove.

He wondered what Blair was up to. Teaching, most likely, and Jim thought it might be fun to sit in on one of his classes sometime, see what he was like in that role. He wouldn’t be surprised if Blair was the favorite teacher of the Anthropology department, not with his enthusiasm and handsome face.

Something began to flutter at the back of Jim’s mind, something familiar, and he tried to focus on it, tried to get a sense of what it was. Just like that, it moved to the forefront. Thump-THUMP, thump-THUMP. Blair’s heartbeat, and it was so close. Without any conscious thought at all Jim opened up hearing until the steady, regular thumping practically vibrated along his bones as if it were his own, and everything else faded away.

Jim drifted back to himself slowly, at first only aware of fingers pressed to his wrist and a hand splayed across his chest. Without engaging any of his senses he knew it was Blair, and for the first time since his heightened senses had come online he slipped painlessly out of a zone.

“Jim? You back with me big guy?”

“Mmmm hmmm.” He felt as if he’d woken from a nice long nap, and he stretched a bit. He was still sitting on the steps outside Plassman Hall, the sun was still shining, and Blair was crouching in front of him with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Do you know what made you zone out this time?” he asked. Curly hair hung over one eye and Jim had to restrain from touching it, pushing it back and out of the way. 

“Yeah. Um…sound. I zoned on sound.” And now he was a little embarrassed. 

Blair’s hand drifted up, ghosted over the side of his face, and then he moved so they were sitting side by side; Jim immediately missed the warmth of his touch and found himself leaning just enough to maintain physical contact. Julie laid down a step below their feet.

“What sound?”

“Any chance I can plead the fifth on that one?” he asked hopefully.

Blair laughed. “Nope. Sorry.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Jim sighed. “It was, uh, a heartbeat. Yours.”

He looked at Blair out of the corner of his eye and saw him blush.

“Oh. Huh. Well, we’ll have to work on the way you’re focusing your senses. You can’t throw everything into hearing, that’s probably what brought on the zone. You need to keep at least one other sense engaged.”

“How’d you even know I was here?” Jim asked. There were students passing by them, some coming into the building and others leaving, but none seemed to pay them any attention.

“Gertie called me. You have a lunch date?”

Now he really felt embarrassed. “I hope I didn’t freak her out.”

“Well, you did. A little. I assured her that it was nothing serious and came right over.” Blair nudged him with his shoulder. “You’re lucky I had office hours and wasn’t in the middle of a class.”

“I’ll try to keep planning accordingly,” Jim joked. “I guess I should go find her and apologize.”

He didn’t have to go far. By the time he got to his feet and turned to go back inside, Gertie was coming out with her purse slung over her shoulder. She looked more concerned than freaked out, for which he was grateful; he didn’t know exactly what Blair had told her but he was glad not to have to explain.

“Are you okay, Detective Ellison?”

“Right as rain. Sorry about that.” He shrugged apologetically, but she waved him off.

“Blair explained everything, it’s okay. You still up for lunch? Because I’m starving.”

“Sure. You want to join us, Chief?” Jim turned a hopeful look on Blair but was thwarted when the other man shook his head.

“Sorry, I have a staff meeting in about fifteen minutes. Call me later?”

“You bet.”

“Make sure you order something nice and expensive,” Blair told Gertie with a grin. “Lunch is on the law.”

Jim huffed out a laugh and watched as Blair and Julie headed back towards Hargrove Hall. Several students called out greetings to him as he went, which he returned. For a long moment Jim was overcome with a wave of affection, and then he shook himself and returned his attention to Gertie.

“So where do you want to go?”

“There’s a little coffee house in walking distance,” Gertie replied. “Is that okay? They make an excellent Reuben.”

“Sounds good to me.” They walked in companionable silence, Jim following Gertie’s lead. She had a very confident stride, but then from everything he’d seen of her so far in their acquaintance she was a very competent woman.

The coffee house was clearly a favorite for the Rainier crowd; there were no empty tables, but Gertie managed to procure them seats on a sofa that was set off to one side. Jim balanced his plate awkwardly on his knees, but the Reuben was ridiculously good.

“So,” Gertie said, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “You had questions about the calendar?”

Jim nodded, waiting to speak until he’d swallowed. “We couldn’t work out some of your notations.” He pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket and nearly tipped his plate on the floor. Gertie plucked the paper out of his hand so he could steady his lunch; she looked it over thoughtfully.

“Okay. MCD? That’s code for McDonald’s.” She grinned. “Dr. Brightman was a self-professed health food nut, but every once in a while she’d sneak off for a Big Mac and some fries. She’d go to Seattle to avoid running into anyone she knew.”

Jim nodded. He himself preferred Wonderburger, but he could understand the occasional need for something greasy and wholly without nutritional value. “What about PNG?”

“That was for poker night with the girls. She and some of the other profs would get together once a month to play. I wasn’t allowed to schedule anything else on those evenings.”

“I have a feeling I would’ve liked Dr. Brightman,” Jim said. Gertie laughed.

“Yeah, she was a pretty neat lady. Scattered sometimes, but she was real, you know? No artifice. You never had to wonder where you stood with her.”

“That says a lot about her character.”

They each turned momentarily back to their respective lunches. There was only one more code left to cover, and it was the one Jim was most interested in because it was the most frequently listed in the three months he and Blair had reviewed. He waited patiently while Gertie had a few more bites of her sandwich and a sip of her iced tea.

“Okay. AHS. That was the designation for Dr. Brightman’s meetings with Dr. Sanchez.”

“AHS?” Jim asked.

“Ass Hat Sanchez,” Gertie giggled. “She didn’t like him very much.”

“I’ve been hearing a lot of that. Any idea why they met so often?” Jim set his plate on the floor. He took the paper back and jotted down some notes on it. Gertie shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. She never told me, just grumbled about having to see him again. After Dr. Sanchez published his Chaucer book I assumed it was about that; that was her specialty area, and I figure he needed to consult with her.”

“Is there any reason why he’d choose to write a book outside of his own specialty area?” Jim asked. It was something he didn’t understand, and the best he could equate it with his own experience was to liken it to someone from Homicide taking over a Special Victims case just because they wanted a change; it just wasn’t done, not without the training to back it up.

Gertie frowned. “No, I don’t know why he would. Of course, all the professors are encouraged to publish, but most of them stick to what they know. Unless he wanted to…I don’t know…do it purposefully to jab at her? I think Dr. Sanchez was jealous of how popular her books and articles were, but he certainly wasn’t the only one.”

Jim nodded, taking more notes. Sanchez wasn’t coming off any better the more he learned about the man. And while Dr. Brightman was no saint, she’d seemed like a genuinely nice person. There was definitely something here, he just needed to dig deeper.

“Can you give me the names of the women she had poker night with?” It was possible that Dr. Brightman had confided things in her girlfriends that she wouldn’t have told anyone else. Gertie gave him the three names she remembered off the top of her head and he jotted them down with the rest of his notes.

“If I can remember any of the others I’ll let you know.”

“Well, I think that covers all the questions I had,” he said, tucking the paper back in his pocket. “I really appreciate you taking the time , Gertie. That was a big help.”

“Anything I can do to help, Detective. Especially if you keep buying lunch.” She grinned at him. “Thanks.”

Jim left her to finish up her lunch as he headed back across campus. He left Blair a voicemail to let him know what he’d found out, and then asked for directions to the library; he wanted to take a look for himself at the other things Sanchez had published prior to the Chaucer book.

Two hours later Jim was ready to stab himself in the eye with a pen. As he’d hoped, Rainier’s library carried copies of all works published by the professors who worked there. He’d waded through several of Sanchez’ articles, all of which focused on Ernest Hemingway and his contemporaries. It was dry, boring stuff, which was a shame since Hemingway could be an entertaining read. Blair had been right on the mark with his disdain for those earlier works.

Just for the sake of comparison, he read an article Dr. Brightman had written on _Le Morte d’Arthur_ ; it was an easy, witty read that avoided all of the stuffy, highbrow language that dragged down the work Sanchez had done. Jim could see why her work was so popular, if it was all written that well. She managed to keep the material easily relatable and understandable despite the age of the written work she was discussing.

Jim asked the librarian for the Chaucer book that Dr. Sanchez was so famous for, but all copies of it had been checked out.

“It’s very popular amongst the students,” she said apologetically. “Would you like me to notify you when it comes in?”

“No, that’s alright. Thank you.” He returned the other articles and headed back out into the late afternoon sun. He wasn’t sure what his next move should be, but a phone call from Blair answered that question.

_Hey, man, where are you right now?_

“Still on campus. Why?” As soon as Jim heard Blair’s voice he let out a breath and relaxed muscles he didn’t even realize were tense.

_You wanna come down to Popeye’s tonight? Maybe have dinner?_

“You singing?”

_I was thinking about it. What do you say?_

“Sure. What time?”

_About five-thirty? Is that okay?_

“Sounds good to me. See you then.”

_I’ll be expecting a full update, Detective._

Jim laughed. “Okay, Deputy. I’ll bring all my notes.”

Blair ended the call, and Jim pocketed his phone with a grin. He had just under two hours to kill, and he decided to see if he could catch one of the cabs that was always loitering around campus. He had time enough to go home, shower and change. Maybe it hadn’t been meant as a date, but it put an extra spring in Jim’s step.

*o*o*o*

Blair was already on stage when Jim arrived at Popeye’s, though he hadn’t yet started to sing; he was tuning his guitar. Mike the bartender already had a Corona waiting for him, which he snagged on his way to the reserved table. He set the beer down and approached the stage.

“Hey, partner,” he said when he got close enough for Blair to hear him but not be startled. “Sorry I’m late; traffic was a nightmare. Did I miss anything?”

Blair tipped his head to the side, grinning. “Nope, I was waiting for you.”

“Thanks. I’d hate to miss the show.”

“No problem, man. Hey, Edie’s going to come around for your dinner order. I didn’t know if you’d want another burger. She already has mine.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll let you get to it, superstar.”

Jim sat down in the booth and took a long pull off his beer. Popeye’s was about half full, more people in attendance than he’d expected for a Monday night. Then again, maybe they just needed the liquid courage to face the rest of the week; he’d certainly felt that way often enough.

Just like the very first time Jim had heard Blair sing, there was no introduction, no idle chit-chat; his friend just got right into the first song. It was an Eagle’s tune, slow and melancholy.

_Desperado why don't you come to your senses?_  
 _You been out ridin' fences for so long now_  
 _Oh you're a hard one_  
 _I know that you got your reasons_  
 _These things that are pleasin' you_  
 _Can hurt you somehow_

_Don't you draw the queen of diamonds boy_  
 _She'll beat you if she's able_  
 _You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet_

Jim couldn’t take his eyes off Blair, the way he kept his eyes closed and swayed to the music as his fingers danced across the strings. He had to use sight to balance out hearing, because it would be so easy to zone out on Blair’s voice.

_Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger_  
 _Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home_  
 _And freedom, oh freedom well, that's just some people talkin'_  
 _Your prison is walking through this world all alone_

He wondered why Blair had chosen that particular song. Was it just because he enjoyed singing it? Because suddenly Jim felt like that lonely cowboy, so used to existing on his own. Only somehow the universe had taken pity on him, because it had given him Blair.

Unsettled by his thoughts, he drank more of his beer and dialed back on his senses just a bit. Around him the audience clapped as Blair ended his song. Jim added his own applause. Blair grinned out at the room, and went right into the second song. Jim wasn’t familiar with that one, which started out slow.

_I don't know why I act the way I do_  
 _Like I ain't got a single thing to lose_  
 _Sometimes I'm my own worst enemy_  
 _I guess that's just the cowboy in me_

_I got a life that most would love to have_  
 _But sometimes I still wake up fightin' mad_  
 _At where this road I'm heading down might lead_  
 _I guess that's just the cowboy in me_

The kid loved a theme set, Jim noted with a chuckle. He wondered what kind of cowboy song would finish it off, but for the moment he enjoyed the lyrics. Maybe it was the mood that Blair had set up, but this song too seemed to speak directly to him.

_The urge to run, the restlessness_  
 _The heart of stone I sometimes get_  
 _The things I've done for foolish pride_  
 _The me that's never satisfied_  
 _The face that's in the mirror when I don't like what I see_  
 _I guess that's just the cowboy in me_

_Man I know there's times you must have thought_  
 _There ain't a line you've drawn I haven't crossed_  
 _But you set your mind to see this love on through_  
 _I guess that's just the cowboy in you_

_We ride and never worry about the fall_  
 _I guess that's just the cowboy in us all_

There was a nice guitar riff to finish off that song, and more applause. Edie chose that moment to stop by the booth and get Jim’s order. He decided to stick with the burger, since he knew it would be good, and asked her to add a chocolate shake for Blair.

“He almost never gets those,” Edie remarked. “That’ll be a nice surprise.”

“Well, he’s earned it.”

“He sure has, honey.” She winked at him and bustled back to the kitchen.

Jim contemplated going to the bar for another beer, but then Blair started his last song and this time he _knew_ it was just for him. James Taylor, always a good choice, and he was curious to find out what had Blair in such a melancholy mood. He was also a bit disconcerted that the kid should know him so well on such a short acquaintance. Was that a Guide thing?

_There is a young cowboy he lives on the range_  
 _His horse and his cattle are his only companions_  
 _He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons_  
 _Waiting for summer, his pastures to change_  
 _And as the moon rises he sits by his fire_  
 _Thinking about women and glasses of beer_  
 _And closing his eyes as the doggies retire_  
 _He sings out a song which is soft but it's clear_  
 _As if maybe someone could hear_

_Goodnight you moonlight ladies._  
 _Rock-a-bye sweet baby James._  
 _Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose_  
 _Won't you let me go down in my dreams_  
 _And rock-a-bye sweet baby James_

As Blair sang that last line, he tipped his head in Jim’s direction with a secretive little smile. It solidified his feeling that Blair was singing just for him as the words slipped sweetly from his lips. Jim realized he was getting turned on and blushed, ducking his head.

_There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway_  
 _A song that they sing when they take to the sea_  
 _A song that they sing of their home in the sky_  
 _Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep_  
 _But singing works just fine for me_

There was quite a lot of applause and hooting as Blair finished up his set. Mike brought a bottle of water over to the stage, which he immediately chugged, and Jim marked his progress as he made his way to the booth.

“Nice set,” Jim said appreciatively as Blair slid into the booth across from him. Julie settled into her usual space at their feet, huffing out a little doggie sigh as she did so.

“Thanks.” He seemed unusually subdued, not his usual boisterous self, and Jim frowned. 

“Everything okay, Chief?”

Blair shrugged. “I’m fine. I just get a little moody sometimes. Sorry.”

“Hey, no need to apologize.” To Jim’s keen gaze, the kid looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well. The area under his eyes was slightly bruised-looking, and his color wasn’t as good as it had been earlier that day. He wondered if Blair was coming down with something, but didn’t want to be weird by asking about it.

Edie arrived just then with their food, for which Jim was grateful. His burger looked just as mouth-watering as it had the last time, and this time the fries weren’t quite so over-done. Blair had ordered a chef salad, which arrived in a deep bowl presumably so the higher sides could act as a bumper for him. All the meat looked as if it had been pre-chopped.

“No radishes, as promised,” Edie said. “Chocolate shake at two o’clock.”

“I didn’t order that,” Blair protested, brow furrowed.

“Your handsome Detective did,” she replied, winking at Jim. “So be nice and enjoy it. You boys need anything, you just give me a holler.”

The burger was good, but Jim only picked at it. He felt like he should say something but he didn’t have the first clue what that might be. And then like magic the gloomy mood hanging over the table broke when Blair took his first hit of the shake.

“Wow, that’s good. It’s been a while since I’ve had one of these.” He took another pull on the straw, grinning. “Thanks!”

Jim let out a breath, relieved. “You’re welcome.”

“So what did you find out today?” Blair asked, attacking his salad with a bit more verve.

“Well, I found out Dr. Brightman liked to sneak Big Macs and play Texas Hold ‘em. Also, those AHS notations? Meetings with Sanchez.”

Blair frowned. “That’s an awful lot of one-on-one time, Jim.”

“That was my feeling too.” Jim’s own appetite had returned and he took a big bite of his burger. “I compared some of Sanchez’s articles with Brightman’s; something’s not jiving there.”

“Remember what I said about a ghost writer? That could account for differences in writing style between the older articles and the book.” Blair chased a wedge of tomato around the bowl before spearing it.

“Maybe so,” Jim acknowledged. “What I don’t get is why Sanchez would write something about Chaucer when his specialty is Twentieth Century American Authors. None of his articles strayed from that time period.”

“Hmmm. 

“Come on, brainiac,” he needled. “Help me out here.” 

“Jeez, give me a minute! You’ve had all day to think about this, let me catch up.” Blair wadded up a napkin and threw it across the table, where it bounced off Jim’s beer bottle. Jim sighed dramatically.

“And here I thought you were one of those super smart university types. Does Rainier know you’re just a regular schmo?”

“Oh, ha ha. You’re _hilarious_.” Blair’s grin took the bite out of his sarcasm. “So what are you thinking? Sanchez was getting Dr. Brightman’s help on the book? There’d have to be an awful lot of incentive for her to help him; nobody likes him enough to do it out of the goodness of their heart.”

“See? That’s what I can’t make sense of. Why would she help him on a project that should’ve been in her purview?”

Blair leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Let me do a little poking around the English department tomorrow. Maybe one of the other profs will have some insight.”

Jim had a bad feeling in his gut all of a sudden, and his “ _No_!” came out a bit more vehement than he’d anticipated. Blair’s eyes widened in surprise, showing the blue.

“What?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sandburg. If Sanchez _is_ our guy it could be dangerous for you.”

“Oh, come on!” Blair protested. “I’m a member of the staff and I can be completely subtle.”

Jim raised one eyebrow at that but the bad feeling didn’t go away. An intense protectiveness rose up, threatening to choke him, but he forced it back down. Blair was a capable, competent man, he reminded himself. And certainly it would be less obvious to have him ask a few questions than to go in there himself flashing his badge.

“Alright, Chief. Just…be careful.”

Blair beamed. “Don’t worry, Jim. It’s a bunch of English professors. What could happen?”

 _Famous last words_ , Jim thought nervously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** So the plot thickens. Hopefully. LOL! Mysteries aren’t my strong suit, but I’m trying! Had to have Blair sing again, I was missing that. Were his song choices made with Jim in mind? I’ll leave that up to you. ::grins::
> 
> Will Blair get himself in trouble in his quest to help Jim out? Stay tuned!
> 
>  
> 
> **Songlist:**
> 
>  
> 
> Desperado, The Eagles  
> The Cowboy in Me, Tim McGraw  
> Sweet Baby James, James Taylor


	8. Chapter 8

Jim sat in his Silverado, knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. It was early, and he wasn’t expected at work for at least an hour. He mentally psyched himself up, reminded himself of the annoyance of relying on cabs and co-workers to get around. He felt like he was getting a good grip on his senses, and now it was time to regain some of his freedom.

Biting his bottom lip nervously he turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, but he’d taken the precaution of dialing down against that. The vibrations were something he hadn’t thought about, but he turned the radio on to help balance out touch with sound, just like Blair had suggested. So far, so good.

Feeling more nervous than he had at his driving test when he was sixteen, Jim put the truck in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. He wasn’t quite ready for the main drag, so he kept to the side streets and drove so slowly that old ladies in walkers could conceivably pace him; it took nothing away from the simple joy of driving after so long and he knew he must be grinning like an idiot.

It turned out that driving was probably one of the less zone-worthy activities he could engage in, particularly in the city. He relied heavily on sight and hearing, looking out for obstacles and other cars, listening for horns and sirens. He’d consult with Blair about maybe getting a tactile steering wheel cover so that he could keep touch engaged at more than one point as well.

Pulling into the Cascade PD parking garage felt like a much larger achievement than it should’ve been, but that didn’t lessen Jim’s sense of satisfaction at having done it. He adjusted his dials for the changes in the ambient noise, particularly the echo off the concrete, and was feeling so pleased with himself that he pulled out his phone and sent Blair a text message.

_Drove to work. No fiery car crash._

With a grin he pocketed the phone and got out of the truck. He nodded pleasantly to a couple of uniforms he passed on his way to the elevator and actually found himself humming as he rode up to Major Crimes. He had a lunch date with Blair later in the day and he was looking forward to seeing him again. He was continually surprised at how much brighter his life seemed these days, and he knew it was all because of his new friend.

“What the hell are you so happy about?” Simon snapped when Jim strode into the bullpen. He was hovering over Joel’s shoulder, reading something on the other man’s computer monitor.

“It’s a great morning, Simon,” Jim replied cheekily. 

“Is that so. You found some evidence then?” 

“Not yet.” He clapped Joel on the shoulder. “Mornin’, Joel.”

“Ellison, are you high?”

“Just on life.” Jim sat behind his desk and turned on the computer. He reminded himself to talk to Blair about the consultant paperwork; the sooner he got that filed the better.

“Hey, Jim? Can I run something by you for a minute?” Brian Rafe, one of the newest members of Major Crimes, stood in front of Jim’s desk in his designer suit looking nervous.

“Sure. What’s up?”

He spent the next hour and a half walking through Brian’s case with him, helping him look at it from a different angle. It never even occurred to him that it was the first time in a very long time that one of his fellow detectives had approached him for help.

*o*o*o*

Blair surprised Jim by having lunch set up in his office on campus when he arrived; several cartons of takeout Chinese were set out neatly on the desk, along with two big cups of soda.

“What’s all this?”

“Indoor picnic?” Blair ducked his head but Jim could see the blush darkening his cheeks. “I didn’t know if you liked Chinese, but I took a chance that you’re an all-around take-out kind of guy.”

Jim sat down on the other side of the desk and looked over the offerings. There was a little of everything, including steamed dumplings, lo mien and boneless ribs. It smelled delicious and he was glad he’d bypassed the donuts at work.

“Good choice, Chief.”

“Thanks.” Blair grinned at him, and handed over a plastic fork. “I got your text. Did you drive over here?”

“Sure did.” Jim speared a dumpling. “I was looking at it all wrong, you know. There’s so much to pay attention to that zoning is pretty unlikely.”

“Makes sense.” Blair dug into a container. “Just take it slow, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to be taking any chances.” He took another dumpling, and then pulled over the container of boneless pork. “Oh, before I forget. We need to get online and fill out some paperwork for the CPD. I got approval for you to be paid as a consultant for the work you’re doing with me on the Brightman case.”

“Oh. Well, it’s just a one-time deal, right? I mean, I can’t sign up for anything long term.”

Jim would’ve loved a little more enthusiasm but he couldn’t fault the kid for being cautious. “One-time deal, Sandburg. You’ve earned it, with all the help you’re giving me.”

At that Blair smiled hugely. “Yeah, I’m practically a real cop.”

“Well, don’t get any ideas about packing heat.”

“I’m more about undercover work anyway. I dug up some dirt for you in the English department.”

Blair looked so earnest but once again Jim was filled with a vague sort of unease. They’d been having fun working together but he couldn’t lose sight of the fact that this was a homicide case; whoever had killed Dr. Brightman could just as easily come after anyone who posed a threat.

“So, I guess there was some scuttlebutt before Dr. Brightman died that she was working on a new project, something big. But she never talked to anyone about her works in progress until she had the first draft done.” Blair pointed his fork in Jim’s general direction. “So what I’m thinking is that the Chaucer book was her idea, and Sanchez either outright stole it from her, or blackmailed it out from under her.”

Jim couldn’t help being impressed with the way the kid’s mind worked. “That fits with what we already know. The writing style between the Chaucer book and Sanchez’s other articles is completely different, which tells me that he must’ve gotten someone else to write it.”

“But she wouldn’t have done all that work and just turned it over without…” Blair visibly paled. “Oh my God. He killed her for it?”

“We don’t have any evidence, Chief,” Jim said. But he knew the kid was right. Tracking down Brightman’s poker buddies had only confirmed that she’d disliked Sanchez even more than her no-good ex-husband.

“I know you were looking at him for it all this time, but it just seemed impossible, you know?” Blair shook his head. “It’s just so…petty. And we’ve all been working with him like nothing happened. It’s true what they say, about monsters wearing ordinary faces.”

“This is why you need to tread carefully,” Jim said. “Sanchez has position, he has some notoriety and money from the book, and he’s not going to take a threat to all of that lightly.”

Blair sighed, and Jim hated the defeated expression on his face. “I’ve been as circumspect as I can. Coming after me is a bigger risk than sitting back and seeing how it all unfolds. Even knowing what we do, you can’t do anything without hard evidence. Right?”

“Right. So from now on you hang back and just be an Anthropologist, okay?”

“I’ll cancel my midnight raid on the records office,” Blair joked, but Jim could tell that his heart wasn’t really in it.

It was always a shock, finding out that someone you know, someone you’re around on a regular basis, had a hidden dark side. Jim had seen plenty of that during his time as a cop, both in Vice and Major Crimes. There were always shell-shocked neighbors and friends and family who felt just the way Blair was feeling now.

“I’ll nail him for this, Sandburg. You have my word on that.”

Blair nodded. “I believe you. You’re one of the good guys, man.”

It hadn’t always been the case, but Jim was warmed by Blair’s belief in him. It sure was nice having someone on his side for a change. “What do you say we fill out that paperwork before I have to go?” he suggested.

“Works for me,” Blair said amicably.

Jim stood behind him as he followed the prompts to the CPD website, hands resting on Blair’s shoulders. He hadn’t been sure the touch would be appreciated but the kid leaned back just a little as if needing the comfort; Jim wished he could do more.

*o*o*o*

Based on the supposition that Sanchez at the very least stole Brightman’s book idea, Simon allowed Jim to bring the man himself to the station for routine questioning. It was framed as a fact-finding mission, since there still wasn’t any solid evidence connecting Sanchez to the murder, but he was clearly nervous despite the fact that they’d put him in the conference room instead of one of the interrogation rooms.

“I appreciate you coming in to talk with me,” Jim said, sitting on the opposite side of the table. He took in Sanchez’s sweaty brow, elevated heart rate, and constant fidgeting, and knew he had the right guy. 

“Well, I had to rearrange some meetings and have a class covered, but I want to do all I can to assist your investigation, Detective.”

 _Sure you do_. “I want you to know that we looked at the ex-husband, as you suggested, but he has a solid alibi for the murder.”

“Oh?”

“In addition, some new information has come to light regarding a project that Dr. Brightman was working on prior to her death. Would you know anything about that, Dr. Sanchez?” 

Jim made a point of opening the case file, where a picture of Sally Brightman at her autopsy was in full view. Sanchez went still as stone for a moment, and then went back to twisting his pinky ring. His eyes kept tracking back to the picture, though.

“Well, in a department our size there are often several projects going on at once. Sally never spoke of anything she was working on until the first draft was done, so I couldn’t say if she had something in the works.”

That jibed with what Jim had already heard about the secretive Dr. Brightman. He reached under the case file and produced Gertie’s calendar, opening it up to the month that Dr. Brightman had been killed.

“According to her calendar, Dr. Brightman had regular meetings with you in the weeks leading to her death. All of these meetings seem to be after hours. Can you tell me what you discussed?”

Jim had to give Sanchez some credit: despite the physical tells he was able to keep his tone quite even, and the story he constructed would’ve sounded totally plausible. To most people.

“Oh. Well, you see, Sally and I were…we were seeing each other. We had to do it after hours, and off campus, because of propriety. It wouldn’t do for the department head to be caught in a relationship with one of her fellow instructors. It would have caused some dissention in the department. You know, people assuming I was getting special treatment.” More ring twisting.

“You didn’t mention this the first time we spoke,” Jim said. He jotted down some notes, which was completely unnecessary because everything was being digitally recorded, something Sanchez had signed off on when he first came in. But it gave Sanchez something else to focus on, and served to make him even more nervous.

“Well, no. I guess I didn’t see the relevance.”

“I’m sure you can see it now,” Jim replied. “If you two were involved surely she would’ve shared her project with you. Particularly since she was assisting you with yours.”

Sanchez finally clued into the fact that things were looking badly for him. He slapped his hands on the table in an overly-dramatic show of anger and glared at Jim.

“I came down here to help you find Sally’s killer, not be interrogated myself! She didn’t discuss her project with me, she was very close-mouthed that way. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any other information that will help you.”

Jim nodded, and absently tapped his finger on the morgue photo, drawing Sanchez’s attention back to it one last time before he closed the case file. “And we appreciate your assistance, Dr. Sanchez. I trust you’ll be available should I have any further questions?”

“I’m a very busy man, Detective.”

“I have no doubt about that. Thank you.” Jim dismissed him and walked out of the conference room. Sanchez pushed past him and headed for the elevators, smoothing down his suit and running a hand through his hair.

“You liking him for the murder?” Simon asked. He’d been listening in on the interview. “Guy’s oily.”

“Convenient, having a secret romance that no-one could know about,” Jim replied. “Doesn’t follow anything I’ve dug up so far.”

Simon nodded. “Nice piece of fiction. He have an alibi for the night of the murder?”

“Nothing I can confirm. As far as homicide was concerned three years ago, this was an open and shut case. Burglary gone wrong. Sanchez was supposedly at some sort of faculty reception but no-one can remember for sure. Hell, they have one of those a month. I imagine they all bleed together after awhile.”

“Unless he confesses I’m not sure you’re gonna be able to get this one, Ellison.”

“Oh, I’ll get him. I promised.”

“Well, get back to it then.” Simon clapped him on the shoulder and headed back to his office.

“Yes, Sir.”

*o*o*o*

It had long since fallen dark when Jim decided to call it a night. He’d called several different offices at Rainier, trying to see if there was any sort of sign-in sheet for the faculty receptions, a way to track who’d come and who hadn’t, but apparently they weren’t real sticklers for paperwork at the university unless it was an official meeting.

“Don’t you have a home to go to?” Simon asked, overcoat on and unlit cigar clamped between his teeth.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Any luck cracking that alibi?” He waited for Jim to shut down his computer and gather up his things so they could walk to the elevator together.

“Not so far. I did get the paperwork started to make my consultant legal and paid.”

“Glad to hear it’s working out.” Simon gestured with the cigar. “Seriously, Jim. You’ve really changed over the last couple of weeks. For the better.”

He just nodded, embarrassed. He knew he’d been a pain in the ass, even before the sensory stuff started going out of whack. Blair had evened him out in more ways than just the Sentinel thing and he knew that whatever happened with this case he wasn’t prepared to lose Blair, as a friend _or_ a Guide.

Jim and Simon got into the elevator, and Simon hit the button for the garage. A moment later Jim jabbed the button that would take him to Traffic on the first floor. He wasn’t sure at first what had grabbed his attention and had him instantly on edge, and then realized it was Blair’s heartbeat. It was racing, much too fast, and it was very close by.

“Jim? What’s going on?”

“Blair’s here. Something happened.”

Before Simon could ask another question the elevator doors opened and Jim was on the run. He burst into Traffic’s bullpen, his senses zeroing in on his Guide. He smelled of asphalt, car exhaust, blood and the sour tang of fear.

“Blair!” He found the kid sitting at one of the desks, looking shaken and pale. His hands were wrapped in gauze and he had a butterfly bandage on his forehead, covering a small gash. There was a lot of blood on his jeans and his flannel shirt, but Jim could tell it wasn’t his; it smelled off somehow.

“Jim?” Blair turned in the chair.

Jim let out a breath and forced himself to calm down. He walked up to the desk, listening for the tone that would tell Blair he was close. As soon as it sounded Blair was on his feet and had his arms thrown around Jim, face smashed into Jim’s shoulder. The kid was shaking and Jim held him tight. He cast an automatic glance down for Julie but there was no sign of the dog. His stomach twisted painfully.

“What happened?” The question was posed to anyone who’d give him an answer. Detective Espinoza, who’d been taking Blair’s statement, stared at him for a moment.

“I didn’t realize you knew Mr. Sandburg, Ellison.”

“He’s been consulting with me on a case. _What’s going on_?”

Espinoza leaned back in his chair. “There was a hit and run down by the University. No witnesses. Mr. Sandburg is very lucky to be alive.”

Jim knew he should get Blair back in the chair and stop making a spectacle of himself in front of the entire Traffic division, but he couldn’t do it. He pulled back just a little, sliding his hands down to Blair’s elbows.

“Chief? Where’s Julie?”

Blair’s eyes were red and wet with tears, and he sniffled miserably. “She’s at the vet. I need to…I don’t know how bad she is.”

“Dog saved his life,” Espinoza interjected. “Knocked him out of the way.”

Jim guided Blair back into his seat, and reached for the nearest empty chair for himself, dragging it across the floor on squeaky wheels. He sat right in front of Blair so that their knees touched, and kept a hand on the kid’s arm.

“Tell me what happened,” he asked, aware that Simon had come in and was watching.

“I was walking home, like usual.” Blair ran an arm over his eyes. “Julie…we crossed the street at the light, and there wasn’t anyone coming. I didn’t even hear anyone idling on the red.”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t know. A little after seven, maybe? It’s my late night, I lead a study group and have extended office hours.”

Jim nodded. “It was getting dark.”

Blair just shrugged. “Julie’s really good at judging traffic and so am I. There were no cars, I was sure of it. And I have a flashing reflector on my backpack, just in case. I want to make sure people see me, you know?”

“The car –” Espinoza started to say, but Jim quelled him with a look. He wanted to hear it from Blair, not a second party.

“All of a sudden there was the sound of a racing engine. It was really loud, and kind of shocking because it had been so quiet just seconds before. I couldn’t be sure where it was coming from at first and I guess I stood there too long, in the street.”

Jim squeezed Blair’s arm encouragingly. He could picture it all too well in his head and had to fight the biting anger that roiled inside him. How dare someone do this to his friend!

“As soon as the tires started to squeal Julie pushed me back. I stumbled, over my own feet probably, and fell. Scraped up my hands, hit my head on the curb. The car, it…I heard Julie…and then it was just gone, roaring away. And Julie was lying there in the street.” Tears spilled over again and Jim’s jaw clenched. “I told the Detective everything I could remember.”

Espinoza nodded. “Mr. Sandburg was treated on site for minor lacerations, and then brought in to give his accounting. Although I have to tell you, Ellison, without any visual information…”

“I know,” Jim said testily. “Sandburg, which direction was the car going when it drove away?”

Blair thought for a minute. “Um…East. It was going East along Crawford. I didn’t hear it turn, but by that time I…uh…I was…”

“It’s okay, Chief.” Jim turned his attention on the Traffic cop. “Detective, I recommend you start pulling camera footage along Crawford. There’s a good chance this guy ran a red light in his hurry to flee the scene.”

“Good idea,” Simon said when it looked like Espinoza was going to argue, no doubt annoyed at having Major Crimes sticking their noses where he thought they didn’t belong. Inter-departmental cooperation was a nice idea but rarely worked well in reality; cops were fiercely territorial.

“Where did they take Julie?” Jim asked Blair, who was getting himself slowly back under control.

“Her vet. I called him at home, and he went in to get ready for her. Dr. Blakely, on Traction Avenue.”

“Okay. I’m going to take Blair to the vet’s office. You’ll keep me posted?”

Espinoza’s eyes slid quickly over to Simon before he nodded. “Of course. Mr. Sandburg, if you think of anything else please give me a call.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Blair got to his feet, eyes still red but dry. He reached out for Jim, who likewise stood and moved to meet his touch. The kid wrapped his hand around Jim’s arm and kept close to his side; without Julie there to guide him he’d need extra help. 

“Call me later,” Simon said as they passed.

“Yes, Sir.”

The going was slow. Jim wasn’t accustomed to being someone else’s eyes and he was afraid to bump Blair or walk too fast. Blair, in unfamiliar surroundings, was likewise being cautious. By the time they got to the truck Jim was tense as a bowstring and the kid looked exhausted.

*o*o*o*

It was a quick drive to the vet’s office, though it seemed longer because Blair was so quiet and withdrawn. Jim wished there was more he could do, and he was dreading getting bad news about Julie. He had his suspicions about the hit and run, and he desperately wanted to go back to the office so he could look over the traffic footage for himself, but he couldn’t do anything until he was sure Blair would be okay.

Dr. Blakely’s office was closed, but a woman wearing a Seattle Seahawks jersey let them in as soon as Jim knocked on the glass-front door. “Blair, honey, are you okay?”

“Better than I look, Heather,” he joked weakly. “Jim, this is Heather, Doctor Blakely’s wife.”

Jim shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You two have a seat. I’ll check with Alan and see if I can get you an update.” Heather disappeared through a door behind the front desk. 

“This sucks.” Blair dropped down into one of the waiting room chairs and covered his face with his bandaged hands. Jim sat beside him, one hand resting heavily on the kid’s shoulder.

“I know it does. But we’ll get through it together, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” He leaned into Jim’s touch and they sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes.

Even with his senses banked Jim could smell animal musk, rubbing alcohol, and feces. There weren’t many animals in the back; he could detect only four or five non-human heartbeats. Despite what must’ve been an unusual amount of activity for so late in the day, there was no barking or any other noise that indicated animals in distress.

Dr. Blakely came through the door behind the desk, wearing a dark blue scrub top that unfortunately didn’t mask the darker splotches of blood; Jim was glad that Blair couldn’t see that. He gave the kid a nudge and helped him up.

“Blair. Sorry to have to see you under these circumstances.” The vet had a face that was vaguely reminiscent of a basset hound – loose jowls, droopy eyelids – and it made him seem incredibly sorrowful.

“How is she?” Blair asked. Jim could see that he was mentally bracing himself for the worst.

“She’s banged up, but she’ll be fine. Some bruising around the ribcage, a dislocated hip, lacerations.” Dr. Blakely grinned then, and it transformed him from hang-dog to jolly. “Julie will be my guest for a few days and then she’ll be able to go home. She won’t be able to work until the leg heals up, though.”

Blair sagged at the news and Jim put an arm around him. He didn’t realize how much he’d been expecting bad news until the relief of not getting it washed over him. He’d never been much of an animal person, but Julie was more than a pet; she was like an extension of Blair and that made her special.

“Can I see her?” Blair asked.

“Of course.” Dr. Blakely moved closer to allow Blair to latch on to his arm. “She’s sedated, so don’t expect much.”

“Jim?”

“I’ll wait here, Chief. Take your time.” Jim watched the vet lead Blair off into the back, and then he paced around the waiting room. It was too soon to call Espinoza for an update, but he sorely wanted to.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that Blair was almost run down so soon after poking around the English department for information on Dr. Brightman. Sanchez was clearly an opportunist, because if he’d taken any time to think things through he’d have realized that targeting Blair wasn’t in his best interest. Jim didn’t have any solid evidence against the man, but if they could pull him in on attempted vehicular homicide he knew he could break Sanchez on the murder. 

Of course, Sanchez’s biggest mistake was trying to kill Jim’s friend. The man had just made an incredibly unfortunate enemy, one who would stop at nothing to see that he paid the full penalty of the law. Some primal corner of his brain was demanding vengeance, thirsting for blood, but Jim squashed it down. He’d pursue all the legal angles first, and if nothing came of it…well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

*o*o*o*

“No.”

“Listen, Sandburg, I don’t want to argue with you about this.”

“Good. Then take me home.” Blair sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest and wearing an impressive scowl on his face.

Jim wanted to bring him back to the Loft, at least for the night, but Blair wasn’t having it. He insisted on going home, even though he’d be there alone after everything that had happened. And maybe it was selfish, but Jim didn’t want to let his Guide out of his sight.

“Can you please be reasonable?” he pleaded.

“You told me that you didn’t see me as handicapped,” Blair said softly, though the words had a hard edge. “Was that a lie?”

“You’ve just been through something traumatic.” Jim refused to get pulled into an argument about Blair’s blindness, when it had no bearing on Jim’s feelings. “Sighted or not, I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”

“I’m no less capable without Julie.”

“I’m not saying you are,” Jim practically growled in frustration.

“Then take me home, or let me out here and I’ll call a cab.” 

Jim could hear the anger in Blair’s voice, and see it in the tense lines of his body. There was no way he could win the argument, not without being a dick, and he sighed in defeat.

“Fine. But I’m coming in and making sure everything’s secure.”

“Fine.” Blair seemed to deflate all at once, and rested his head against the side window. He looked exhausted, which was certainly to be expected, and Jim was filled with the urge to take care of the younger man. Draw him a bath, throw out his blood-stained clothes, make sure he slept without bad dreams. He didn’t know why Blair was so insistent on being alone but short of kidnapping him there wasn’t much to be done about it. 

When they got to the apartment building Blair stubbornly refused any help from Jim. His steps weren’t quite so sure without Julie at his side, but he took the lead nonetheless. Jim let him have that, but he went inside the apartment first, flipping on the overhead lights and checking to make sure no-one was lurking. Blair might think it had just been a random accident but Jim was sure Sanchez was behind it, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

“You could just use your senses,” Blair pointed out wearily from the doorway.

“I want to be thorough.”

“Well, mission accomplished. If you don’t mind, I’d very much like to get in the shower and possibly burn these clothes.” He moved with much more confidence through his apartment. “Thanks for your help.”

The dismissal couldn’t have been more obvious and Jim bit back yet another protest, since that would only make things worse. He hated fighting with Blair but he wasn’t about to apologize for wanting him to be safe. Still, he hesitated on his way out the door.

“If you need anything –”

“I can take care of myself,” Blair snapped. He didn’t shut the door in Jim’s face, but it was a near thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** Highs and lows in this chapter. As always, my knowledge of police procedure comes from cop shows, and I haven’t watched many of those lately. But it seemed like time to bring Sanchez in for an official interview.
> 
> I hope you didn’t think I killed off Julie! I’d never do that to Blair. Poor guy. 
> 
> For the end of this chapter I originally wanted Jim and Blair to get some well-needed cuddles on, but they wanted to argue instead. Blair clearly needed to reassert some control over his life. 
> 
> Two more chapters to go, faithful readers!


	9. Chapter 9

Jim went to work the next day feeling agitated and out of sorts. He’d hoped to hear from Blair but his phone stayed stubbornly silent. He suspected the kid was back on campus, not wanting to leave his students in the lurch. It was foolhardy in the extreme, especially if Sanchez had been behind the wheel of the car that had nearly mown him down the night before.

After parking his truck Jim made a beeline for Traffic and Detective Espinoza’s desk. His priority was tracking down that driver, regardless of who it was.

“Ellison. You’re looking chipper this morning.” Espinoza had a smirk on his face that Jim had the irrational urge to remove with excessive force.

“What’s the status of the driver that tried to run Sandburg down?”

“And how is the boyfriend this morning?” He leaned back in his chair, cheap gray suit jacket falling open to reveal a too-tight blue dress shirt. Jim didn’t care for his smarmy tone, or the chuckles his comment received from his fellow Traffic officers.

Jim leaned over the desk, palms down and fingers splayed over the casefiles scattered there. “Do you really want to be the dick cop that doesn’t follow through with the blind guy? I’m sure the local ACLU would love to hear about that. Be a real boon for your department.”

Espinoza narrowed his eyes. “You threatening me?” 

“No. I’m asking you, cop to cop, to do your job before my _friend_ gets hurt.” Jim lowered his voice. “I know you’re on thin ice with your captain. A public relations headache isn’t going to help you.”

He knew he was taking a chance. He didn’t know Espinoza very well, just whatever gossip he could get out of Rhonda. He wasn’t a bad cop but sometimes he had a bad attitude, and butted heads often with Captain Peters. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be put back out on a beat.

“Fine,” Espinoza said after a long moment. “I’ll show you what we’ve managed to come up with since last night.”

Jim drew up a chair and sat down, making himself comfortable. Espinoza handed over a file.

“We got a partial plate off a traffic cam on Crawford. There were several potential matches, one of which was reported stolen about an hour before your boy was run down.”

Jim looked through the photos. The traffic cameras didn’t offer the clearest pictures, particularly at night, and it was impossible to make out the driver’s face, other than the fact that it was a man with dark hair. Not enough to make a move on, particularly if they couldn’t tie Sanchez to the car. 

“You got someone in mind for this?” Espinoza asked, showing that despite the attitude he did have cop instincts.

“I do.” Jim gave him the bare bones on Sanchez and the Brightman murder, hoping that if he shared what he knew the traffic cop would be more willing to work with him. Despite the disparaging remarks directed toward Sandburg, Espinoza was quick to make connections.

“If he stole the car that shows premeditation.”

Jim nodded. It wasn’t good. And it likely meant that Sanchez would escalate. He clearly saw Blair as a threat to everything he’d built for himself since Brightman’s death, which put the kid in the worst possible spot.

“You working the car from your end?” he asked.

“We’ve got forensics going over it looking for trace. Let’s hope your guy didn’t seal up.”

“Keep me posted,” Jim said, standing. He held out his hand and after a minute Espinoza shook it.

“Sure thing.”

*o*o*o*

It was nearly noon before Jim bit the bullet and sent Blair a text message.

_Are you on campus today?_

He set his cell phone on the desk and pointedly ignored it. He told himself it didn’t matter if Blair answered or not. If he really wanted to know he could just call the Anthropology department secretary and find out. Still, when the phone buzzed five minutes later he nearly pounced on it.

_Yes._

Okay, so clearly Blair was still upset with him. Jim debated his next move. He wanted to be there when the kid’s day was over, give him a ride home. He was so exposed and vulnerable, especially without Julie. 

_How about dinner at Popeye’s?_ Jim tapped into his cell phone. That was neutral ground, and a place Blair was comfortable with.

_Mtg with dept head at 6. Meet 6:30?_

Jim let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know what would have happened if Blair had refused to see him, though he was sure it would’ve ended up in another fight. Maybe it was merely a physical pull, maybe it was a Sentinel thing, but there was no staying away. Not for Jim.

 _I’ll be there_. He hit send and set the phone aside. It was time to get back to more pressing issues, namely connecting Sanchez to the hit and run. He needed to find out where the man was the night before, see if he had a workable alibi. Jim really wanted to go to Rainier and ask in person, if just to give him a chance to check in on Blair, but he was making an effort to tread carefully with his Guide’s feelings.

Instead, he called and talked to Gertie, who penciled him in to see Sanchez the following day, the earliest he had a break in his schedule. Another face to face interview would tell Jim everything he needed to know about Sanchez’s guilt.

“Gertie, do you know what time Dr. Sanchez left the office yesterday?”

_I’m sorry, Detective, I’m not sure. I had to leave early for an appointment, and he was still here then._

“What time was that?”

_A little after three._

“Thanks,” Jim said. “See you tomorrow.”

He hung up and sat there staring at his computer monitor for a while. It was too soon to start harassing forensics to see if they found any trace in the car, and he couldn’t start picking apart Sanchez’s alibi until he met with the man and heard what it was.

Jim made another call to the university, this time to the security office, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he knew the new Chief of Security. He’d worked with Suzanne Tamaki on a case several years ago, when she was still with Tacoma PD. They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before Jim got down to business.

“Suzanne, do you have security cameras in the staff parking lots?”

_Yes, we do. Rainier monitors as many of the outside areas as possible. We haven’t had any assaults on campus in over two years thanks to the surveillance system._

“Two years. That’s pretty impressive.”

 _These kids can be real dicks to each other sometimes_ , Suzanne said wryly. _At least now students can walk around campus at night without having to worry. Which has nothing to do with staff parking. What do you need?_

“Dr. Sanchez in the English department. Do you think you can find out what time he left campus last night?”

_Is this about Professor Sandburg’s hit and run?_

Jim grinned. Suzanne had always been quick on the draw. He didn’t know how or why she’d gone from PD to campus security, but he was grateful that she was the one he was dealing with in this particular case.

“Officially, this is an open case and I can’t tell you anything other than that. Off the record, I’m very interested in knowing where Sanchez was last night.”

_I’ll personally review the footage from last night. And keep an eye on Sanchez myself. I don’t want anyone else on my campus getting hurt._

“I really appreciate it, Suzanne. It’s nice to be working with you again.”

 _Same here, Jim. I’ll call you when I find something_. Suzanne ended the call and Jim hung up his phone. Maybe he’d finally be able to gather enough evidence to at least bring Sanchez back in and interrogate him properly.

In the meantime he pulled out Dr. Brightman’s calendar and started building a timeline of meetings and activities leading up to her death. It would be useful to have to compare to Sanchez’s movements for that same period of time. And maybe when he was done there’d be some news from forensics.

*o*o*o*

Jim arrived at Popeye’s a half hour early, anxious to check in with Blair and see how he was doing. There weren’t many people sitting around the tables, and nothing on stage to indicate that there’d be live entertainment. He wondered if there was an actual schedule for performers, or if they just winged it.

Instead of heading for the reserved table Jim took a seat at the bar. Mike slid a Corona to him and he nodded his head in thanks. It was ridiculous, the butterflies he had in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Blair. He’d seen him just the night before, even if the circumstances hadn’t been all that desirable, and there was no reason to feel like some kind of schoolgirl with a crush.

He didn’t consider there could be a different reason for his unease until Mike sidled his way down the bar, wiping the surface with a rag.

“Hey, cop. You meeting Blair here?”

Jim nodded. “He has a meeting on campus and then he’ll be over.”

“I heard what happened last night.” Mike lowered his voice and leaned forward. “You think it’s related to the case?”

“I hate to say yes, but…yeah.” Jim tipped his bottle from side to side before taking another swallow. “It’s looking that way.”

“Kid’s got to be taking it hard. He frets over that dog, and for good reason.” Mike pulled some used coasters off the bar. “You gonna catch the guy responsible?”

“I’m working on it.” Jim didn’t want to make any promises, but he could admit to himself that he wouldn’t rest until he had Brightman’s murderer in custody. And once that threat had been neutralized, maybe he and Blair could figure out where they needed to go from there.

“When’s Blair coming down?” Mike looked over the bar at a plastic clock shaped like Popeye’s bicep. “I can give the kitchen a heads up.”

“As soon as he’s done meeting with his department head.” The look Jim received in return had his instincts instantly shooting over into the red zone. “What?”

Mike gestured to a table near the jukebox. “That’s Dr. Stoddard over there.”

As soon as Jim saw him he recognized the man from the faculty reception. He slid off the stool and stalked over to the man’s table, interrupting him in the middle of a story about inner-city skateboarders. 

“Dr. Stoddard? Jim Ellison. I’m not sure if you remember me –”

“Blair’s cousin, right?” Stoddard grinned up at him. “What can I do for you?”

“I was led to believe you had a meeting with Blair right now,” Jim explained. But he knew, he _knew_ , that something else was going on. 

“A meeting? Nothing on my schedule, I’m sure.” Stoddard pulled out his phone and checked his calendar. “No, I’m sorry. There must have been a scheduling error. That happens from time to time.”

“It’s not an error,” Jim grumbled. He hit the door at a run, belatedly remembering he hadn’t yet paid for his beer. It didn’t slow his steps at all. Even as he got in the truck and started it up he called Blair’s cell. It rang several times before switching to voice mail, and Jim tossed it on the seat beside him. 

The bar wasn’t very far from campus. Jim made the drive in record time, slamming on the brakes when he came to the parking lot nearest to Hargrove Hall. He had to force himself to sit for a minute and use his senses instead of just rushing into the deepening dusk to find his Guide.

Using the skills Blair had taught him, Jim dialed up hearing but kept one hand tight on the steering wheel, thumb moving back and forth over the bumpy finger grips as he also dialed up touch to keep from zoning.

Jim sought out Blair’s heartbeat, the sound of it as familiar to him as Blair’s voice or scent. It didn’t take him long to lock on to it, despite the amount of people on campus, and he immediately tensed when he heard how fast it was racing. Something was definitely wrong, and now that he knew where Blair was he could expand his focus enough for words.

Only there were no words, just heavy breathing and the scuffling sounds of movement. Jim called in a request for backup and slid the phone in his pocket. He pulled his weapon and thumbed the safety off before striking out on foot across campus, following Blair’s heartbeat like a beacon. It led him straight to Hargrove Hall, which was no surprise.

 _Come on_. The muttered phrase was clear enough that Sanchez could’ve been standing right in front of Jim, who scowled and quickened his pace.

There was an evening class in session – Jim could hear a professor on the second floor droning on about mating rituals – which meant that the building was unlocked, saving him the trouble of breaking in. Blair and Sanchez were in the basement and Jim stopped the first person he saw, a young girl who stared at the gun in his hand with wide, wide eyes.

“Cascade police,” he said. “How do I get to the basement?”

She pointed a shaking finger down the hall. “There’s a stairway. Three doors down.”

“Thanks. I need you to call Campus Security, ask for Suzanne Tamaki. Tell her I’m on site and where I went. Can you remember all of that?”

The girl nodded, already pulling out a cell phone. Jim left her to it and moved on down the hall. The stairwell was clear when he checked it and he headed down, still listening in. From the sounds of things Blair and Sanchez were playing Hide and Go Seek, and Jim felt an irrational swell of pride at the knowledge that his Guide was holding his own even without Julie by his side. _Handicapped my ass_.

The basement halls were even more deserted than the main part of the building and the lights had been turned off. Jim would’ve been helpless if not for his Sentinel sight, which he dialed up.

"I just want to talk to you!" Sanchez called out. He sounded angry and desperate, not a good combination. Jim tensed, waiting to see if Blair would give himself away by responding. He didn’t.

The basement was mostly storage rooms and some offices no bigger than closets. With Blair’s heart beating away so close Jim didn’t have to waste any time clearing the other rooms. He slipped through a door and found himself in a large storage area crowded with shelves and crates and filing cabinets. The shelves were full of artifacts of varying size, all of them tagged and dusty. More importantly, Sanchez wasn’t in the room. Unlike Jim, he had to check every hiding space.

Jim had one ear on Blair and one on Sanchez, and with his focus split he wasn’t prepared when something hard swung out and caught him in the shoulder. The gun dropped from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor as he stumbled back into a pottery-laden shelving unit. He managed to keep from going down but some of the artifacts weren’t as lucky, shattering as they tipped off the shelves.

“Freeze!”

It wasn’t the best position to be in, looking down the barrel of his own gun, and Jim wasn’t sure he felt any less worried for his safety when it was Blair’s finger on the trigger.

“Easy, killer,” Jim said, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want to startle the kid into accidentally shooting him.

“Jim?” Blair paled and immediately lowered the gun. He had an awkward grip on it thanks to the gauze wrappings on his hands, which were as dusty and dirty as the rest of him, and hanging loose in frayed strips.

“You been playing in the dirt, Chief?” Jim kept his tone light but he carefully gave his Guide a Sentinel once-over, checking for any damage; luckily he just seemed scared and dirty.

“What are you doing here?” Blair hissed. His head tipped from side to side presumably to maximize his hearing. “I could’ve killed you!”

“You nearly took my head off. Nice swing, by the way.” The numbness was fading and the deep throbbing pain that replaced it spoke of a spectacular bruise to come. Jim rubbed his shoulder with his good hand, wincing at the tenderness.

“I’m sorry, man! I didn’t mean to –”

“No permanent damage.” Jim reached out with his good hand, intent on retrieving his gun, but froze in place when he heard the scuff of a shoe and a grunt of exertion. In all the excitement he’d lost track of Sanchez, and between himself and Blair they’d made a regrettable amount of noise that gave away their location.

“Blair!” Jim grabbed hold of the kid’s flannel shirt and pulled, bringing him in close and spinning him around as one of the shelving units tipped over. Jim did his best to cushion Blair’s landing as they both fell to the floor, taking the brunt of the impact himself.

The shelving unit crashed into the one opposite with a metallic clang that Jim could feel reverberating in his back teeth, and rolled as everything on it rained down on them so he could protect Blair as much as possible. The pain of having heavy objects bouncing off his back and shoulders was a secondary concern as Jim focused on locating his gun. He was surprised to find it still clutched in Blair’s hand.

“I didn’t want any of this to happen,” Sanchez said. His legs came into Jim’s line of sight, dress pants sharply creased.

“Is he armed?” Jim whispered in Blair’s ear.

“I don’t know,” Blair replied, his voice Sentinel-soft. Jim would’ve dialed up scent to find out about a possible weapon but there was too much dust in the air.

“It’s not too late to make the right choice,” Jim said to Sanchez. He slowly pushed up on his arms, trying to get a better view.

“Yes, it is,” Sanchez replied. He sounded honestly remorseful, as if attempted murder was something that had just accidentally happened through no fault of his own. “They’ll take it all away from me and then I won’t have anything, don’t you see?”

“Killing us isn’t the answer,” Jim said calmly. He continued moving slowly until he was kneeling on the hard concrete floor, which was as far as he could go with the tipped shelf right over his head. “Right now this is a cold case but if you kill a cop it’ll be an active investigation. And they’ll come looking for you first.”

“He’s right, Edward,” Blair said, still lying prone on the floor. “It’s over.”

“No! Nothing’s over!” Sanchez shouted. He swung his arm up, revealing a pistol in his hand, and it was like time slowed down.

Jim shouted something, he thought maybe _gun_ , but at the same moment he reached for the weapon in Blair’s hand the kid rolled to his stomach and brought the gun up. Jim had the briefest moment to note that he used a proper two-hand hold and then the gun fired. The sound was deafening – even knowing what was coming Jim hadn’t lowered his dials – but he was on the move a half second later, launching himself forward and tackling Sanchez to the ground.

Sanchez screamed but Jim could only tell by looking at his face. He wrenched the gun out of the man’s hand and put the safety on before tossing it aside. Sanchez wasn’t going anywhere – Blair had shot him just above the knee, effectively hobbling him.

Jim jerked in surprise when he felt a hand on his arm, but it was only Blair. He was pale and wide-eyed, gun still clutched in his right hand. His lips were moving but Jim’s ears were ringing so much he still couldn’t hear a thing.

“Can’t hear you,” he said.

Blair frowned then held his other hand up, twisting it back and forth.

“Dials. Right.” While Sanchez writhed in pain beside him Jim closed his eyes and visualized the hearing dial. Blair squeezed his shoulder, grounding him. It took a minute of adjusting before he could get at least partial hearing restored.

“Give me the gun, Chief.”

“You hearing okay?” Blair asked, handing the weapon over.

“There’s a lot of ringing, but I can hear you.” He could also hear Sanchez crying about his leg, which was the least of his worries.

“How badly hurt is he?” Jim could feel tremors moving through Blair’s body where he was pressed up against Jim’s arm. He shifted slightly, enough to put an arm around his Guide and hug him close.

“He’ll live. And so will we, thanks to you.”

Blair held on to him with both hands, shaking even more. Jim attributed it to an adrenalin dump, which he was feeling himself. There wasn’t much time to indulge in the shared closeness. Campus security showed up, Suzanne leading the charge, and it took a few minutes to get the situation straightened out. An ambulance was called for Sanchez and Simon Banks showed up in person to take everyone’s statements.

Jim insisted that Blair be checked over by the EMTs, and then lost track of him while he watched Simon question Sanchez before he was taken to the hospital under police guard.

“You did a hell of a job wrapping this case up.” Simon finally lit up the cigar that had been clamped in his teeth all night. “I would have preferred less gun play.”

“You’re not the only one.” Jim rubbed a hand over his face. Blair – gentle, guitar-playing Blair – could’ve killed Sanchez. If the bullet had been a quarter of an inch to the left it would have punctured the man’s femoral artery and he’d have bled out before the paramedics arrived. “You think there’ll be any problem with IA?”

Simon shook his head. “It was clean. Sanchez hasn’t been reticent about what happened.”

“I should get the kid home. He’s had a rough go of it the last few days.” Jim cast around for Blair but didn’t see him anywhere. Instant panic flared up – had he been taken to the hospital? Had he been more than just shaken up?

“He asked to go home about a half hour ago,” Simon said, giving him a strange look. “I had one of the uniforms take him.”

Jim cursed. He shouldn’t have let Blair out of his sight, today of all days. He couldn’t stand the thought of his Guide alone in his apartment. He immediately pulled out his phone and then remembered that Blair had lost his at some point while he was being chased by Sanchez.

“Everything okay, Jim?” Simon asked.

“Yeah. It’s been a long night. I’m going to see if I can find the kid’s phone, and then I’ll head on out.”

“Call if you need anything. And detective? Take tomorrow off.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Jim walked back into Hargrove Hall, dialing as he went. Blair would be completely cut off without his phone and that was unacceptable. The call connected and he listened, a grin spreading across his face when he heard the ringtone Blair had assigned him – the _Dragnet_ theme.

“Real funny, Chief,” he chuckled to himself. He had to call Blair’s phone two more times before he found it in a stairwell, not far from the collapsible white cane he must’ve been using while Julie was out of commission. Jim scowled to see his things scattered about like that and was glad that nothing seemed to be broken.

The phone gave Jim an excellent excuse to swing by Blair’s place and check on him. Not that he wouldn’t have stopped by anyway, but at least he wouldn’t come off overprotective.

“Jim?” Blair looked exhausted but in much better control of himself when he answered the door. “Everything okay?”

“Just thought you might need your phone. And your cane.” The stark relief on Blair’s face proved Jim right and he handed the items over.

“Oh, man, you have no idea how glad I am to have this back.” Blair held the cell phone to his chest. “I’d be lost without this thing.”

“I figured. You doing okay?” Traumatic events seemed to make Blair pull into himself and reassert his independence, so Jim knew that any comfort he might offer now would be unwelcome no matter how much his fingers itched to reach out and touch.

“I’m cool.” Blair shrugged noncommittally. “You won’t get in trouble, will you? Because I used your gun?”

“No trouble. Simon said that Internal Affairs will clear it as a clean shoot, which it was. You handled yourself really well, Sandburg.”

Another shrug. “My mom dated a guy whose dad was big into guns. He used to take me target shooting, but we had to do it on the sly. Naomi’s never been a big fan of firearms.”

“Then I owe that guy some thanks.” Jim leaned against the door frame, weariness stealing over him. “You really had my back, Chief.”

Blair flushed. “I guess.” He reached out hesitantly until his hand landed on Jim’s arm. “You sure you’re okay?”

Jim covered Blair’s hand with his own, his chest aching painfully when he thought about what might have happened. “I’m good.”

They stood that way for a long moment, holding on to each other, and then Blair stretched up and laid a fumbling kiss on Jim’s jaw; the press of his lips there burned like fire.

“So, uh. I’m going to turn in.”

“Yeah. I have to get home.” Jim would’ve been more than happy to sack out on Blair’s couch but couldn’t bring himself to ask. It wouldn’t have been enough, under the circumstances. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Of course.” Blair offered a tentative smile. “Thanks, Jim. For everything.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, pal,” Jim replied. There was more he wanted to say, but then Blair was closing the door and he was left standing out in the hall, hoping like hell they hadn’t just said goodbye forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** So, I really had trouble with this chapter. There were several iterations of Sanchez going after Blair, and I had to work out a good way to get Jim on the scene in order to lend a hand. The one thing I knew for sure was that I wanted Blair to be able to hold his own, which I think he ended up doing very well.
> 
> One more chapter to go! Will these boys finally hook up? Tune in and find out!


	10. Chapter 10

Blair maintained a physical distance in the days following the shooting. Jim thought he understood, figured the kid needed some time to think things over, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a little. Especially when Blair went into the station to give his statement on the day Jim was home, his back and shoulder so stiff he could barely walk. He was jealous of whoever had brought him there, acting as his eyes.

It would’ve been completely unbearable if not for the fact that Blair regularly sent him text messages.

_I’m sorry about the shoulder. Is it bad?_

_Dodging reporters._

_Everyone’s treating me like a hero. It’s weird._

Jim responded to each message and very carefully didn’t make any requests of Blair though he sorely wanted to. Might have, if he felt surer about where they stood and what the kid wanted.

Sanchez’s official interrogation took place at the hospital and Jim had been there, letting the pain in his bruised back fuel his anger. Not that he needed to work the bad cop routine because Sanchez had apparently give up. He made his confession in a flat, emotionless voice, his injured leg bandaged and propped up on a pillow.

Sally Brightman’s murder was the result of professional jealousy and spot-on timing. She’d been working with Sanchez, trying to help him improve his own writing style. Over drinks one night she’d let slip about the Chaucer book, and he followed her home, asking to see it.

“She refused. Said she didn’t show her works in progress to anyone.” Sanchez stared at the blank TV screen on the wall across the room. “I could tell she didn’t think I was good enough. Not _worthy_ enough, like she was so much better than me. She asked me to leave. I didn’t.”

Sanchez had put his hands on her, shook her, threw her down. Brightman died on the floor of her own living room when her head caught the edge of the brickwork around the fireplace. It could’ve been played off as an accident if he’d called 911, tried to help her, instead of ransacking the place until he found her manuscript.

“Everyone knew about the break-ins. It wasn’t hard to make it look like just another robbery.”

If not for Jim’s instincts and Blair’s assistance the Brightman murder might’ve never been solved, and Sanchez never brought to justice. It was a good feeling, getting closure for the family, though it would’ve been better to have Blair with him to share in it.

_Julie’s back home!_

That one hurt most of all, and solidified for Jim the feeling that he couldn’t live on the fringes of Blair’s life – he had to be all in, _wanted_ to be all in. He’d wanted to be there when Blair brought Julie home, wanted to share that moment with him and not via text message.

He typed _I want to see you_ and then immediately deleted it from his phone. He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake, and he didn’t need to give in to the schoolgirl impulses that had been plaguing him since meeting Blair. In an act of defiance that was fairly pathetic he turned off his cell phone and resolutely refused to spend any more time wishing for something that only he wanted.

*o*o*o*

The Sanchez case was nearly done, at least Jim’s part of it. The reports were written, depositions given, and now it was just a matter of waiting to see if he’d be called to testify, though he’d been assured the case likely wouldn’t make it to trial. Sanchez hadn’t recounted his confession and he was looking at a lifetime behind bars, even if he made a deal.

“You did a really good job on this,” Simon said. He’d called Jim into his office, where they shared some of the special blend coffee. “I think you’re ready to resume active duty.”

That was what Jim had wanted, what he’d been working toward, but now he felt ambivalent about the job. His situation had changed; hell, his _life_ had changed.

“Try and contain your enthusiasm.”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I just…I think I need more time.” Jim stared down into his coffee cup as if the answers could be found there. “The thing with my senses isn’t going away, Simon. And I need to figure out what to do about that.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Simon sighed and Jim heard his glasses clatter on the desktop. “I’d hate to lose you. You’re one of my best detectives.”

“Simon…” Jim looked up but Simon forestalled him with one raised hand.

“Take a few days. You need to use up vacation time anyway. Get your head on straight and then we’ll talk.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Jim stood and shook his captain’s hand, grateful for his understanding. Simon Banks had many strengths and accurately assessing the needs of his people had always been one of them.

“Good luck, Jim.”

*o*o*o*

He drove around for a while, mind in an endless loop of what ifs. Blair had given him a measure of control over his senses but it wasn’t enough. The zones were still an issue, and from what he’d been able to glean from the book Blair had given him he should be able to do so much more. The Sentinels that Burton researched had been capable of incredible things, had used their senses over unbelievable distances. Jim couldn’t help wondering what the real-world applications would be from him, assuming Blair could be convinced to help him.

Eventually he wound up back home, just as the late afternoon sun was giving everything a golden glow. As soon as he set foot in the lobby he stopped, head tipping slightly to the side as he listened. Something had caught his attention, put him on alert, and it only took seconds to realize it was Blair’s heartbeat.

Jim took the stairs two at a time, his heart in his throat. Something had to be wrong if Blair had come so far out of his safety zone. But when he reached the third floor he found his Guide sitting peacefully outside his door, Julie’s head in his lap. His cane, which had a strap on the top, was looped around his wrist and a guitar case leaned against the wall.

“Blair?”

“Oh, hey Jim.” Blair made no attempt to get up, just kept rubbing Julie’s head. “I hope you don’t mind us stopping by. I tried to call but I kept going to voicemail.”

Jim touched the phone in his pocket, guilty. “I turned it off. I’m sorry.”

“No, I get it. You needed some time. That’s cool, man. We both have a lot to process.”

“Can we process it inside?”

“Sure.” Blair got to his feet gracefully, scooping up Julie’s leash as he did so. The guide dog didn’t look too bad – her fur was shaved where the worst lacerations were and she was favoring the leg that had been dislocated. Since she wasn’t on official duty – no harness – Jim reached down and scratched her behind the ears.

“Julie’s looking good.”

“She was really happy to be home.”

“I’ll bet.” Jim unlocked the door. “Speaking of home, how did you know where to find mine?”

“Junior gumshoe, remember? I made friends with Vera in Human Resources.” Blair grabbed his guitar case, which Jim quickly relieved him of. He stepped cautiously into the Loft. “We were going to wait outside but someone tried to give me money for a hot meal.”

“You do look pretty disreputable, Chief.” That was a lie. Blair looked as good as ever in torn jeans and a flannel shirt, his curly hair loose around his shoulders.

“Just doing my part to keep grunge alive.” Blair stopped just inside the door and turned in a slow circle. “Your place sounds pretty big.”

“Open floor plan,” Jim replied. “Go ahead and explore if you want.”

He watched as Blair did just that, tapping around the room with his cane while he counted steps under his breath. Julie hobbled along beside him, sniffing at everything. Jim leaned against the front door, arms crossed, watching. He couldn’t believe that Blair was finally in his home. He looked good there.

“Pretty Spartan,” Blair observed.

“I’m a simple guy.”

“Yeah, right. You’re the least simple guy I know.”

Jim opened his mouth to offer a scathing reply but then Blair paused in front of the bank of windows along the far wall. Limned in gold he was beautiful, breathtakingly so, and Jim found himself hovering on the edge of a zone until Blair moved away.

“This is a nice place.” Blair had looped back around to the kitchen. When he found Braille labels on the cabinets he froze in place, looking confused. “What’s this?”

Jim had put them up in a moment of optimism and now found himself a little embarrassed. “I was hoping I’d get you here eventually.”

Blair closed his eyes and rested his head on one of the cabinet doors. He seemed so incredibly vulnerable in that moment and Jim couldn’t help but go to him.

“You okay, Chief?”

“I was all set to say goodbye, you know? Clean break. But…you learned Braille.” Blair opened his eyes. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

It took all of Jim’s strength of will not to pull the kid into a hug. “Why are you here?”

Blair shrugged. “I was worried when I couldn’t get hold of you.”

Jim moved close, setting off the proximity tone. “Blair, I want –”

“Yes,” Blair said in a rush of breath. “Please.”

Needing no further encouragement Jim pulled Blair into a hug, holding him tightly and being held in return. He drank in his Guide’s scent, the texture of his hair against Jim’s cheek. They fit perfectly together, Blair filling up empty spaces that Jim didn’t even know he had.

“You’re really tall,” Blair said. 

Jim couldn’t help but laugh. “No, you’re just really shrimpy.” 

Blair’s chuckle reverberated though Jim’s body and set all his nerve-endings jangling. He didn’t want to let go, certain that if he did he’d never get that chance again. By his own admission Blair was ready to walk away from what they had. What they could have.

“So you came all this way to say goodbye?” Jim’s throat was tight but he had to ask. 

Blair pulled back, and Jim was unable to put a name to the expression on his face. “I can’t walk away from this, Jim. And I don’t want to. It’s been a long time since…well, it’s been a long time.”

“We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah. We do.” Blair grinned up at him and it was all Jim could do not to kiss him. He thought the kid would be open to that, unless he’d been reading Blair wrong. And he didn’t want to make a mistake, not when it was so important.

“That reminds me, Chief. I got you something.”

“Well, what a coincidence because I have something for you, too.” They moved apart, and Jim immediately felt the loss of it. He hadn’t been physically close with anyone since his divorce, hadn’t even known he was missing it.

There was a small white box on the stand by the door and Jim scooped it up. He’d ordered it before the Brightman case had ended, on a whim. He was glad now he had. His instincts hadn’t led him wrong since starting the case and hopefully they wouldn’t now.

“Still with me big guy?” Blair asked, and Jim realized he’d just been standing there lost in thought.

“Yeah. Sorry. Hold your hand out.”

Blair did so, making a grabby motion. “This better be a good surprise and not something slimy or bitey.”

“Bitey?” Jim asked, amused.

“Give it already! I’m dying of anticipation.”

“Can’t have that.” Jim placed the box in Blair’s hand, his fingers stroking ever so lightly along Blair’s as he let go of it.

The kid flushed a little as he turned his attention on the box, tracing out the shape and size of it with his nimble fingers before he plucked the lid off. Inside, nestled on a bed of white batting was a gold-plated star that said Deputy across the middle in raised letters that Blair could easily make out by touch. Judging by his delighted grin Jim had made a good choice.

“This is my shiny gold star? Oh, man, that’s awesome!” Blair immediately pinned it to his shirt, looking for all the world like a little kid playing dress-up. Jim was hit with such a wave of affection that he felt his face heat from it.

“Looks good, partner.”

“Yeah? Sweet. Oh, here.” Blair pulled something out of the pocket of his jeans. “No fancy wrapping, sorry about that.”

Jim couldn’t make sense of it right away. A strip of what felt like silicone with what felt like wires on the inside of it. “Um…”

“Like this,” Blair said patiently. He wrapped it around Jim’s wrist and fastened it snugly; it was just this side of too tight.

“A bracelet?” Jim wasn’t sure what to say. It was plain black and completely unadorned. He didn’t really wear jewelry – it didn’t make much sense on the job and once his senses had starting wonking out he’d been easily irritated by anything that brushed against his sensitive skin.

“Jewelry for a tough guy like you?” Blair teased. “No, this is even better. Check it out.”

He pulled out his cell phone and brought up an app that had a big J on it. “I don’t understand.”

“Because it hasn’t synched yet. Geez, you’re so impatient.” Blair knocked him with his shoulder. Another few seconds and then the phone beeped. “This is the best part.”

_Heart rate 72 beats per minute. Temperature 97.8 degrees._

“When you zone out, your heart rate drops way down. Your temperature probably doesn’t fluctuate as significantly, but I’d bet all your autonomic systems are affected. The bracelet has sensors in it that synch up to my phone, so I’ll get an alarm if either thing changes significantly.” Blair grinned. “So I’ll know when you zone without having to rely on visual cues. As an added bonus there’s a GPS tracker in there so I’ll know where to look for you. A buddy of mine made it for me.”

Jim was speechless. He stared at the innocuous looking band of silicone on his wrist, thinking through the implications. First and foremost, Blair wanted to keep helping him with the Sentinel stuff. But to go through all that trouble…there had to be more, another level of interest.

“It’s patent pending,” Blair continued. “I told him he should call it The Sentinel.”

The kid was going out of his comfort zone, all for Jim. The least Jim could do was return the favor. “About those tests,” he said. “We should do them, if you can find someone you trust to help you.”

“Really? I promise you won’t be sorry, Jim. I already have someone in mind, someone I trust to keep everything confidential. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.” Jim realized they were still standing there in the middle of the room. He wasn’t being a very good host. “It’s getting on dinner time. You hungry? We can get takeout.”

“I could eat.”

They went through all the different menus he kept near the phone, finally deciding on pizza. While Jim placed the order Blair sat on one of the two couches and tuned his guitar, Julie sprawled at his feet. He’d brought an acoustic, probably because hauling around an amp was more than he wanted to handle.

“Concert for one?” Jim asked when he got off the phone. “You’d better not tell Mike.”

“Have a seat, big guy.” 

He sat opposite Blair and leaned back, getting comfortable. He wasn’t sure why the kid had dragged his guitar all the way here but he wasn’t about to complain. He loved listening to Blair sing, had in fact been keeping the Grad4 CD in his truck so he could listen during his commute back and forth to the station.

“So. I’ve been trying to think of a song I could sing for you. Something to tell you how I feel.” For the first time ever Blair looked nervous sitting there, guitar balanced on his thigh. “Even tried writing something original, but I gotta tell you, my strengths do _not_ lie in that area.”

“You wanted to write me a song?” That was huge. Blair had already done so much for him, given him so much. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve having this man, this curly-haired, grunge-wearing Guide, in his life. 

“Like I said, that didn’t really work out. But this should do the trick just the same. So, here goes.” Blair took a deep breath and started to strum, his fingers easily picking out the chords. Jim wasn’t familiar with the song but he could immediately identify with the lyrics.

_Whenever I’m alone with you_  
 _You make me feel like I am home again_  
 _Whenever I’m alone with you_  
 _You make me feel like I am whole again_

_Whenever I’m alone with you_  
 _You make me feel like I am young again_  
 _Whenever I’m alone with you_  
 _You make me feel like I am fun again_

_However far away_  
 _I will always love you_  
 _However long I stay_  
 _I will always love_  
 _Whatever words I say_  
 _I will always love you_  
 _I will always love you_

As always Blair put all of himself into the song, eyes closed and body swaying in time. By the time he was finished Jim’s chest was so tight he could barely breathe. In just under three weeks he’d formed a deep and immediate connection with Blair, and to know it was mutual was more than he ever could’ve asked for.

Jim moved from the couch to the coffee table, sitting so that his knees bumped with Blair’s; Julie moved out of the way with a chuff. He gently removed the guitar from the kid’s hands and set it aside. 

“I’m going to touch you,” he said.

“Okay,” Blair whispered. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and he was holding himself very still.

Jim cupped his face in both hands and brought their lips together in a brief, chaste kiss. “You make me feel whole again too,” he murmured.

The breath Blair let out was almost a sob and he surged forward, kissing like a starving man. Jim let him have that for a moment and then moved one hand into his hair, stroking his head and slowing things down for both of them. He wanted to revel in the taste of his Guide, wanted to breathe him in with his senses blown wide open so he didn’t miss a thing.

They might’ve stayed locked that way forever if not for the knock on the door. Jim pulled back, chasing the taste of Blair on his lips with his tongue. He was painfully aroused and mentally chastised himself. Whatever they were building together wasn’t something to be rushed.

“So what now?” Blair asked breathlessly, his lips kiss-swollen.

“Now, we eat pizza.” Jim gave his face one last lingering caress and then got up, pulling out his wallet. His life was going to change again, but this time for the better. And for the first time in a very long time he let himself feel optimistic about the future.

**Six Months Later**

Jim came home, knowing there was a smug grin plastered on his face and not caring. He let himself in, pleased as always to see Julie waiting for him, tail thumping against the floor. He reached down to scratch her on the head.

“There’s my good girl.”

“That you, Jim?” Blair called from the kitchen.

“Better be, or else you’re in big trouble pal.” Jim hung his keys on the hook beside the door, neatly labeled with his name in Braille. 

“Good timing. Dinner’s just about ready.”

It was Blair’s early night, and he almost always did the cooking on those days. Jim found him putting silverware on the table, which was already set with a white tablecloth, candles, and wine glasses. It wasn’t only the table that was dressed up, Blair was too – button-down black shirt, black dress pants. He looked good enough to eat.

“That’s good, Chief. I’m starving.” Jim moved in, letting the proximity alarm give Blair fair warning before he wrapped him in a hug and kissed him. Even months later it was still a rush for Jim, the taste and feel of his Guide, the easy acceptance. “What’s with the fancy dinner?”

Blair grinned. “Anniversary. I know, it’s overly-sentimental, especially since it’s only been six months, but these rites of passage can be really important to a relationship.”

Jim shook his head. “You’re such a sap.”

“That’s why you love me,” Blair said brightly.

“Yeah. I really do.” Jim kissed him again. “We caught another case today.”

“You want to run through it after dinner?”

“It’ll keep till tomorrow.” It had been a couple months since Jim resigned from the PD and gotten his private detective license. He and Blair were both also official consultants to Major Crimes, tackling the cold cases. “I must be a sap too, because I got you something.”

“You did?” Blair pulled away to turn off the oven. “Is it bigger than a bread box?”

“Considerably. Can dinner wait a few minutes?”

“Well…not too long. But sure.” 

“Have a seat.” Jim pulled out a chair for himself and sat at the table.

“This sounds pretty serious, big guy. You aren’t proposing here, are you?”

Jim blushed. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it, but he’d been serious about taking his time. He’d rushed into his first marriage and he wasn’t about to make the same mistakes all over again.

“Uh…no.”

Blair laughed. “Jeez, relax. I was only joking. So what did you get me?”

He held his hand out and Jim took hold of it, twining their fingers together. He was hoping he hadn’t overstepped, but there was only one way to be sure.

“That house on Oakland Drive is for sale. The one with the nice yard.” It was something they’d talked about weeks ago, getting a house a little closer to Rainier so Blair didn’t have as far to walk. Something big enough that Jim could have a home office and Julie could have more room to run.

“Okay.” Blair waited expectantly.

“I…ah. I made a down payment on it. We’re not locked in, so if you don’t want to go through with it -”

“Are you serious?” Blair pulled Jim forward by their joined hands and kissed him, hard. “Just, are you sure? You have to be sure, Jim, because buying a house together is a really big deal.”

Jim traced Blair’s jaw with his fingertips, dialing up touch to feel every imperfection, every bump of stubble. “I’m sure.”

“Then I have bad news for you,” Blair said sadly. “Dinner’s going to get cold.”

“And why’s that?” Jim asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

“Because I want to have dessert first,” Blair replied. He waggled his eyebrows.

“We need to get that sweet tooth checked out, Chief.” Jim laughed as he eagerly followed Blair to the bedroom, humming _I Shot the Sheriff_ the whole way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** Sorry for the delay in getting this last chapter out. I was distracted by zombies, but I was able to fend them off long enough to put the final touches on this.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read and left kudos and comments. I’m so glad you liked this as much as I did! 
> 
>  
> 
> **Song List:**
> 
>  
> 
> Lovesong, The Cure


End file.
